The Stone Lotus
by lilykane
Summary: It was two summers ago that Jin Kazama walked into the temple, never to be seen alive again. Yet even now, his friends and family struggle to move on, and the father he never knew seeks the truth about his son's apparent murder. Chapter 24 has been added
1. Chapter One

The Stone Lotus--Document ver. 2.0

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~Disclaimer: Tekken is Namco's. Yessiree, it is.~

~Author's notes: Yep, I still hate Xiaoyu.~

****

The Stone Lotus 

Chapter One 

There wasn't a cloud in the sky that afternoon as they all stood together in the cemetery. Obnoxious sunlight that made the day worse than it already was bounced off of the brightly polished casket, and the still, dry air made it nearly unbearable to stand and breath outside. But they all waited for the sermon to end and for the wooden coffin to be placed in the ground. 

Lei Wulong stood quietly near the back the large ensemble of people at the funeral, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers. He wore a pair of black Lennon sunglasses to keep the glare down from the fierce sun that day, and despite how warm it was, he still had his black blazer on. Occasionally, as he listened to the reverend, he wiped the sweat off his brow. 

He felt out of place there, as he scanned the crowd of people. He recognized Heihachi Mishima, who stood rigidly and silently. The elderly man's face was stony, though Lei could tell that the old man was trying to keep from breaking down. 

_How ironic,_ the detective thought wearily to himself of Heihachi. There were others there that he had only made acquaintances with for a short while, such as the little half-Korean con artist that had insisted that Lei call him by only "Hwoarang", his usually long red-dyed hair was cut and trimmed neatly, and he was in military dress clothes. The boy had his hand on the shoulder of a teenaged girl about the same age as him, who stood in front, long brown hair pulled back out of her face with barrettes. She had come in a white tailored dress suit, unlike everyone else there clad in black. However, her rigid face showed that she was probably the only person that really belonged there, aside from Heihachi. Around her neck was a chain with a gold coin and a ring. 

Lei recognized the ring as Jun Kazama's. 

The monotonous voice of the reverend finally lifted and punctuated the sermon with an "Amen", which was echoed through mumbles from everyone there. Lei quietly murmured the same thing under his breath, troubled as he watched the grey gilded casket slowly lowered into the ground He had never been a believer in God, and he doubt he ever would be. Yet as he watched the elderly Mishima stiffen as the coffin descended into the ground, Lei couldn't help but wonder. 

***** 

They were sitting in a small cafe that humid afternoon, still not quite to where they were going. She had a cup of coffee, and he a full meal of a sandwich, fries, and a soda. He ate quietly and quickly and said little aside from commenting about the unpleasantly warm and sticky weather that day, and she nodded whenever he spoke, though she wasn't listening. Hwoarang knew that, however, yet was still bothered by the girl's silence. Julia Chang had once been a rather cheerful person, outgoing and talkative. However, those days it was nearly impossible to tell. He really couldn't blame her, though. As she sat with her companion, she kept pushing up her tortes shell glasses. 

"Can you believe," the young man finally began once more, changing the subject of the conversation he was having with himself, "that it's been a couple of years since either of us have been home?" 

Julia took another sip of her coffee, "Hm?" 

"Think about it," he sighed as he leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixated at the young woman before him. "I've been away in the service, and you've been at school." 

"I go home sometimes, though," she replied, shaking her head. 

"What? For like a week at Christmas, or am I mistaken?" 

"Do I need to remind you who's doing the driving, _Robert_?" Julia narrowed her eyes at her companion, and Hwoarang cracked a small grin at her, glad that she was finally talking back to him, even if it was out of irritation. The young man glanced over his shoulder at the exit when he heard the door open with a jingle; a man entered and trudged through the place looking for a booth to sit in as his two small children clung to him and whined. Hwoarang smiled to himself then turned back to Julia. 

She frowned, "And what are you grinning about?" 

"Just thinking about how'll nice it'll be to see everyone again. You know, Babydoll and Eddy and Forrest--" 

"--Forrest is still in Brisbane," she said flatly. The young man sitting before her lifted a brow and sighed heavily. 

"That's too bad... I was really looking forward to tormenting him for a month or two." 

"I don't think he's ever coming back, Rang." 

"Oh?" Hwoarang straightened back in his seat and frowned. "And why is that?" 

Julia shrugged, "I guess he and his dad still aren't seeing eye to eye..." 

"He hasn't told his dad yet, has he?" 

Julia grinned weakly, "Yeah, then there's that." 

Hwoarang shrugged, "I guess, there's no reason to talk about that anymore." He sighed heavily and leaned back. "So, what's left?" 

"Nothing. We get our check and start driving back to Dreyfus." 

"Man, you're more in a hurry than I am to get back." 

Julia shook her head, "It's not that. I just want to get to town before it's dark." Hwoarang nodded in agreement and picked up his soda for one last drink. His face darkened over as he gazed intently at the woman in front of him. 

Of course, there were other things he wanted desperately to discuss with Julia, mainly about where their relationship was going, if anywhere. Though, he decided then as he drank his the last of his soda that he was always going to be secondary to her. That was something that hadn't changed since the day he had met her, despite how close they had become over the past couple of years. However, ever since the funeral, the taboo that had always been between them had heightened, and Hwoarang again found himself wondering exactly how long he was going to have to still be in the shadow of Jin Kazama. That was a name that Hwoarang never mentioned anymore around her, out of both respect and jealousy. 

He finished his drink then glanced over at the door again. 

"Are you ready now?" Julia asked, pushing up her glasses. 

"Yeah." She stood up and stretched, then pushed a lock of her dark hair out of the way of her specs. She then managed a small grin at the young man still sitting in front of her. 

He looked different from he did back then, his light brown hair neatly trimmed in a crewcut and comparatively decent clothing, a white t-shirt and jeans instead of the bizarre leather and denim getups the young man paraded around in when he was younger. Hwoarang lifted a brow when he noticed the smile on Julia's face soften and warm. He smiled back. 

"I don't have a prayer, do I?" he chuckled as he stood up and signaled for a waitress. 

"You what?" Julia lifted a brow. 

His grin grew, "Nothing." 

The rest of the trip was silent aside from the whispers of the radio playing, barely audible over the engine of Julia's old Cadillac. Hwoarang kept his head turned to his window and watched the dull, flat scenery. Brown grass from the drought that summer was all that led the way to town, aside from the weathered road signs with the lettering flaking off. Hwoarang smiled to himself as he saw the city limits finally come into view, and he glanced over at Julia finally. 

Her face was placid, yet there were tears rolling down her cheeks. She brought a hand up to hastily wipe them away, as she had been the entire time they had been in the car. Hwoarang shifted in his seat and faced her. 

"You know," he started quietly as he reached over and turned off the radio, "we could always turn back. It wouldn't bother me at all. It's not like I have family or anything--" 

"--I do, though." She sniffed once, keeping her gaze forward at the road. "I promised my mother I'd visit her. She's expecting both of us." 

He shrugged, "Okay, I was just suggesting it." He looked forward as well and sighed heavily. 

"Thank you for being concerned, Rang, but I'm fine." Hwoarang frowned at that response and slumped back in his seat and started watching the world speed by again. A green sign whizzed by, marking where the Dreyfus city limits began, and one bye one, buildings appeared. Julia's driving slowed. Old mom-and-pop shops and bars seemed to be all that were there, until finally they were immersed in with newer buildings and the shopping district. The only building that seemed out of place was the abandoned remains of the Louisville Bar, which had closed down before Julia and Hwoarang had even been born. 

Hwoarang grinned when the old parking lot came into view; it was overgrown with dying, brown foliage. The building itself was boarded shut, with old planks of grey, rotting wood that had been there for two decades over the busted out windows. There was even still broken glass scattered around the abandon tavern. It gave the building the appearance of an abused woman. Hollow, sad, purposely forgotten. 

"They need to pave that thing over or build something there," Julia mumbled under her breath as she sped past the lot. Hwoarang straightened up, chuckled a bit, and glanced over at his companion. 

"Nawh, I have fond memories of that place," he mused, his grin growing. 

"You're an asshole. You know that?" 

He frowned and looked forward, "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that night." There was no response from the girl at Hwoarang's rather calloused remark. His frown deepened at the silence. "Fine, sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it." 

"No, you shouldn't have." 

"I said I was sorry." 

Again, silence. 

Hwoarang opted to kept quiet until they reached their destination at that point, and soon they rode through a residential area. By then, the sun had started to set, casting a warm red glow over everything, and the sky had erupted into bright fiery hues. As they drove past the houses, the reflections of the sun danced and floated from window to window. 

Julia turned a corner and headed down a cul-de-sac to the large grey house that crowned the little circle of homes. Hwoarang straightened up in his seat when he saw that they were finally at Julia's. 

He noted that the windows of the home were darkened, unusual for the Chang household at this time of day, when the car pulled up into the driveway. The young man then sighed heavily as Julia turned off the car. 

"Jules?" he began softly. 

"What?" 

"I really am sorry. I had no right to say what I did." 

She chuckled a bit and shook her head, yet gave no real response to Hwoarang. Instead, she opened her door and got out. Reluctantly, he did the same, and Hwoarang followed his companion up to the house and inside. 

As expected, her mother wasn't home, and as Julia made her way through the dark house, she flipped on lights . Hwoarang followed quietly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he sulked along, much like a leashed dog. The last stop was Julia's bedroom, and the girl sighed heavily before turning on the lights. 

It was like any typical teenaged girl's room, clean, overly effeminate with white and pastel pinks decorating everything in there. Julia made a face at her bed, which was covered in particularly frilly pink bedding, yet she flopped down on it. She sat up and gestured to Hwoarang to do the same. He obeyed quietly and sat cautiously next to the girl. He looked towards the white dresser. 

The mirror was covered with photos, and he saw himself in a few of them, to which in every picture he was sneering and flipping off the camera. Most of the other pictures were of Julia with Jin. Hwoarang's frown deepened as he looked over the photos. 

Julia looked over at the mirror as well, "I need to take down some of those." 

"They're nice pictures." He laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I like the one of shirtless Jin." 

"Ha ha, Rang." Julia turned and stretched out beside the older boy. 

He closed his eyes and murmured, "I wish you'd _really_ laugh again." 

"What is that supposed mean?" She nudged him. 

He didn't reply. 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

He was reading at his table, which it seemed like that was all he did those days. Some days, his meals would go untouched, such as that very morning. His toast and eggs sat, several hours cold as he flipped another page in the thick novel he read silently. A nurse entered his room, and he looked up at the sound of the faint creak the door had made. He frowned at the woman as she picked up his tray, and he went back to reading. 

His room looked like a studio apartment and was furnished in that fashion, unlike the stark pale rooms the other wards in the building had to suffer in. One of the walls was covered by a huge bookshelf filled with books and binders that held his writing from the years he had been living in the institution. Despite the large accommodations made, he did, however, feel just as trapped as any of the other patients and had long given up on being released, and he glanced up at one of the windows. Like the other windows in the room, it was covered by both screening and metal bars. However, the glass was opened, letting in fresh air that afternoon. 

Despite the fact that he was dressed comfortably in a t-shirt and jeans, he wore a white ID bracelet on his left wrist and a tracker usually used to monitor criminals under house arrest. 

The door opened again, and he looked up and frowned. Oh, yes, it was Wednesday. He had had forgotten about that. He bookmarked his spot and closed his book before turning fully to face the doctor that had entered the room. 

"Good morning, Kazuya," the woman smiled when the man finally looked over at his visitor. He lifted a brow at the rather chipper woman. She was young, just out of medical school and still optimistic about her work, which bothered Kazuya. In her hand, she held a black leather binder, and she sat down across from Kazuya in an empty chair. "I have good news for you today." 

"You're going to finally put me out of my misery?" 

The doctor frowned, "No, I really think you'll like this news." She smiled again the older man sitting across from her as she opened her binder and flipped through it. It was filled with notes, though in one of the inside pockets, a women's fashion magazine was tucked away. Kazuya fixated his gaze on what he could see of it. 

On the cover, there was a photo young woman with auburn colored hair and blue eyes grinning playfully, and she wore a white flowing sundress and a matching floppy hat. It reminded him of someone, though whom he couldn't remember exactly. Most of his memories were like that these days, coming in fugues and looping; a distinctive lack of time. 

"We're taking you off of your medication for a little while." 

He blinked once, still focused on the magazine instead of his doctor's face, and remained silent. 

The younger woman's frown deepened, "Did you hear me?--" 

"--Why?" He looked up. 

"Your immune system's built up a resistance to treatment," she smiled gently. "We think it's safe to take you off until your tolerance drops to normal again." 

"It's temporary, though," he mumbled as he looked down at the magazine again; his forehead wrinkled in thought. 

The doctor grinned, "Not necessarily." She shut close her binder, which broke Kazuya's concentration. Startled, he shook his head and looked up again at the woman doctor. "If all goes well, this could be the end of your treatment. Then we can contact your family--" 

"--How many times do I have to tell you people? I don't _have_ any family." 

"Everyone has someone out there." 

He frowned, "I'm not everyone, though." He stood up and quietly strolled over to his opened window. 

With his back to his doctor, he began again, "It's not fair to take someone's death away from them." 

"You were given a second chance." 

"A second chance at what?" He spun around angrily, "If living in a cage is a second chance, I'd rather be dead! And hell, I can't even remember how I got into this mess, if I even agreed to be cut up and shot up full of drugs, or...or..." His hands were trembling as he tried to think of what he was going to say next. Nothing came out, however. The doctor's face was placid as she soaked in Kazuya's rant, and she waited for him to finish.

"Get out," he replied finally. She nodded and stood up, still silent, then hastily exited the room. 

It was true, though. When asked his name twenty years ago, he could only respond "Kazuya". The researchers and doctors that kept him there doubted that was his real name, and sometimes he did himself. However, it was the last thing he remembered hearing from before he woke up after surgery, covered in bandages and unable to walk then. A woman's voice in his head had called it, bright, cheery, European accented. Familiar. 

They had had trouble figuring out Kazuya's age. It was known that he had to be at least in his forties; however, from the treatments and surgery, he still looked like he was in his early thirties at the most, and wasn't aging any. His surprisingly muscular body was covered in pre-surgery scars, however, none of which gave any clue as to who he was, the two most distinguishing being the large gash across his chest and the one etched across his face. Of course, he couldn't remember how he had received either one. 

Kazuya sat down slowly on his bed. Though it was covered in a dark blue bedspread, it still didn't hide the fact that it was a stiff, hospital mattress. He looked forward at his door, numbed. Usually, he never had outbursts like that. That was one of the things that made him stick out as a ward there, his cooperation and mild manners. He knew, just from stories the nurses and orderlies told him in whispers, that most of the patients there were quite mad, all supposedly burn victims like he. The "treatments" they were given were accelerated versions of his, often resulting in grotesque mutations and failures instead of restoration of muscle tissue and skin like the results Kazuya had enjoyed. At times, he could hear screaming and moaning from the other rooms, as if there was some kind of torture being executed. Those nights, Kazuya would lie in bed, his head covered with his pillow, praying for the cries to stop. 

He could hear voices muffled by the walls that morning, a woman whimpering in pain, speaking in a language he couldn't understand, and then the voice of his doctor replying in a bubbly manner in the same language. As he listened, he pulled his legs up to chest and hugged them. More crying, and then the shut of a door. He then stretched out on his bed and listened until he drifted off into sleep. 

Several hours later, he awoke to darkness; the only light that came into his room was from the streetlights outside of his barred windows. As he laid in bed, his eyes adjusted to the dark, he stared up at the ceiling, again troubled. 

It was silent. Not a sound from outside his door or beyond his walls. Kazuya then sat up and stared over at his door. The little window in the door was darkened as well, unusual since the hospital kept all its hall lights on at night, like any other medical facility. He blinked once, stood up, and crept over to the door. 

He frowned and peeked out the window. 

There were patients wandering around the hall, silent, and doors were wide open. Usually, the doors to the wards' rooms were electronically locked at night, and with that in mind, Kazuya glanced down at his wrist. The red LCD light that usually blinked on his tracker was off as well. 

"You're free to go, Kazuya." 

Kazuya's eyes widened when he heard his name, and slowly he looked over his shoulder. 

A young woman stood behind him, her hands folded daintily over her stomach as she gazed back at the older man placidly. She was wearing a light blue summer dress with a white shawl thrown over her thin shoulders. Kazuya turned completely to face the girl. 

Her face was familiar to him, though she wasn't particularly beautiful, a typical looking Asian girl with a plain kind of prettiness. Ordinary. 

"I know you, don't I?" he asked softly under his breath; he squinted as he tried to get a better look at the girl. As he stared at her, his stomach gnawed on itself, and Kazuya felt ill. 

The woman stepped towards him and held out a hand, "Do you need to be led out?" 

"...No." She smiled weakly at that response and refolded her hands as she walked towards Kazuya, who stumbled back in fear, trying to get away from the woman as she approached him. He pressed himself flat against the door, and his eyes widened when she stopped in front of him. Cautiously, the woman lifted a hand to his cheek and lightly traced the scar there with her fingers. 

At the first moment of her touch, Kazuya felt an overpowering wave of anger and fear rush into him for a split second. His bottom lip quivered, and he could feel his eyes tearing up. He gritted his teeth and did his best to fight them off. 

She whispered, "I forgive you," before leaning in and kissing him gently on the lips. 

He ran through corridor after corridor in the hospital, slamming into other patients and knocking them down as he frantically looked for an exit. Not once did he look back as he searched, until finally he found what had to have been the lobby. Unlike the rest of the facility, it was deserted, and the glass double doors gave off the only light in the large room. The front desk that should had been occupied by a guard or a secretary was empty. He scurried up to one of the front doors then stopped. 

There was another moment of fear as he hands pressed cautiously against the metal bar on the door, and he hesitated. Instead of pushing the doors open, he stared down at his wrist again and frowned before ripping his ID bracelet off then began fiddling with the tracker. After a few seconds, the band of plastic and wires slipped off his wrist and fell by his bare feet onto the tiled floor. Kazuya sighed with relief then once again pressed his hands against the metal bar on the door to open it and stepped out into the cool night air for the first time in two decades. 

He walked away from the building and towards a huge metal fence and gate several hundred yards in front of the hospital. When he reached the gates, he found that they were opened, and he slipped through them. However, as soon as he was through, the gates creaked shut, and he turned around. 

One by one, the windows in the hospital began to flicker on, sickly yellow light, and he could make out figures rushing about in the building; probably orderlies gathering up the loose wards. He let out a heavy breath and turned his back to his former prison and looked out ahead. 

There was nothing but open highway and sky before him. 

Kazuya smiled. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

Lei had been driving for two days now, only stopping occasionally for gas and to rest. The whole trip had been last minute, sparked by a flood of emotions and humiliation, and now that he was near his destination, he had no idea why he had decided go there of all places. 

He had spent the previous day practicing what he was going to say to her, the woman that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the woman that he would had gladly given up everything for. All she had to do was ask. And as he had walked out of the jewery store, Lei stared down at the opened box in his hand and the diamond ring that sparkled up at him. 

It had taken him months to decide he was ready for commitment, though he and Wenjun had been been living together for a little over five years. That same day, he had been put on leave from the force for a month; his peers and superiors claimed that it was for Lei's well-being, though he knew better. Somehow, however, that had put his entire life in perspective; he couldn't be a cop forever. 

He had treated her like a queen the entire time they had been a couple, to make up for the long hours he worked. Or rather, it was compensation for not only not being around, but for Jun Kazama. 

He knew dimly that he still loved Jun, despite the fact that their romance had been brief and bittersweet. It was just that Lei only wished to fix whatever he did wrong with Jun, and he tried desperately to avoid that with Wenjun. However, he soon learned that he couldn't. 

Lei found Wenjun in bed with another man when he returned from work. Oddly enough, instead of getting angry, he silently walked out of the bedroom and into the living room. There, he sat down on the couch, grabbed the remote, and flipped on the television as he waited for her other lover to dress and leave. Resting next to Lei was the accursed box, which should had been a simple yet grand gesture. 

Lei left that night without saying a word to her, aside from a brisk goodbye. 

On his dashboard, the small black velvet box sat, taunting the detective as he drove. It represented everything his life was at the moment: a joke. Some masochistic part of him decided to keep the damned thing, though he knew he should had thrown it away before he had started his trek. Yet there it was, reminding him that everything had changed. 

The city limits sign whizzed past, and Lei sighed heavily as he sped towards the horizon of buildings that glittered over the dry skyline, somewhat relieved though still troubled. 

It seemed like he always returned there when he needed comfort. Two years ago, he had learned that Jun had passed away; that had been something that never quite sunk in. Even then as he drove, there was a small part of him that wanted to relive the moment when his lips first touched hers, or even just when the two of them talked together at night. That same part of him , however, was keeping that ring on the dash. 

***** 

Hwoarang awoke to the sounds of a vacuum cleaner roaring in the next room that morning; he had slept on the floor in Julia's room on blankets she had provided. With a yawn, he sat up, stretched, and rubbed his eyes before standing up painfully. 

Julia's bed was empty, as he expected, and also to no surprise, it was made up neatly. He chuckled a bit before shuffling to the door to leave, his feet tucked underneath the long legs of his flannel pajama bottoms. 

When he emerged from Julia's room, Hwoarang went down the hallway that lead to the living room, where the sounds of the vacuum cleaner rumbled from. He leaned against the wall and smirked as Julia's mother, Michelle, cleaned rather perkily that morning, headphones on over the bandana she wore in her long, dark hair. She was oblivious to the fact the she was being watched and sang along to the No Doubt tune that was being blasted into her ears. With one final long sweep, she finally switched off the vacuum, grinned, and nodded once approvingly at all the cleaning she had done that morning. She then turned off her discman and leaned over to unplug and wrap the cord back around the the vacuum. 

Hwoarang's grin grew as he finally stepped in the room. 

"Good morning, Mom," he said playfully, startling the older woman. She looked up, and when she saw the boy , sighed with relief and smiled fondly at him. 

"Hey, you," she sang as she straightened up and strolled over to greet him. She hugged him, "I'm sorry, I missed you and Jules last night." She pulled away, "I ended up having to stay at the office late and just slept there to save me trouble of driving home." 

Hwoarang nodded, "That's okay. We were both pretty worn out anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Well, at least, I know I was." Michelle then pulled away completely to allow the younger man to enter the room, and she turned to go to the dining room. She beckoned at him to follow. 

He loved the brew of tea Michelle made for breakfast, some weird medicial hybrid she proudly proclaimed, of green tea, mint and another strange herb that he couldn't remember the name of, and he could smell the mint when he entered the dining room. The grin on his face broadened as he saw the kettle already set out on the table and a couple of tea cups. He sat down, and his eyes followed Michelle as she trotted into the kitchen and back into the dining room, a bowl of sugar in hand. 

"So," the younger man started as Michelle sat down across from him, "Where did Jules take off to this morning?" 

"The usual places," she sighed quietly. The older woman poured Hwoarang a cup of tea. "She went off to the reservation to go see her father's family, then I'm guessing she went to cemetery after that." Hwoarang nodded quietly as he took a sip of his warm tea; Michelle poured herself a cup. "I'm surprised she didn't wake you so you could tag along..." 

He shook his head, "I wouldn't feel right had I did went along. And--" He took another sip before continuing, "--I don't think she's really forgiven herself or me." 

"Sounds like you haven't either, Robert," Michelle replied softly. 

"I know, I haven't." Hwoarang looked down at his tea; his reflection frowned up at him from the dark brew in the cup. "It's just..I never really got to apologize to Jin." He sniffed once and looked up; he blinked when he saw that Michelle was smiling gently at him, that warm motherly smile he adored. With a heavy sigh, the younger man managed a weak grin back at her. 

***** 

"Sorry, I know it was short notice--" 

"--Hey, it's not a prob," Paul Phoenix grinned at Lei as he gestured to the other man to follow him. "I like having guests." The blond then led Lei through his small home into a empty room, the "guest room". It was pretty much only furnished with a desk and a couch, but was clean like the rest of the house, something that surprised Lei when he arrived. He never imagined Paul to be a tidy person, considering the blond still was the epitome of the biker image, and that day he wore a white tanktop and a pair of faded blue jeans. Paul's long blond hair was tucked behind his ears, and his face covered with a mustache and beard, not that Lei looked any neater. 

The detective was clad in a white oxyford shirt over a white t-shirt, both untucked and wrinkled from his traveling, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. The khaki slacks he wore were crinkled as well, while his dark hair was pulled back into a messy, long ponytail that almost came to his waist. To top off Lei's pathetic, worn appearance, his cheeks were stippled with a five-o-clock shadow, and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. 

"So, are you sure you don't mind me staying here a couple of weeks?" 

"Not at all," Paul scratched his cheek as he watched Lei set his bags down on the floor. "I'm usually gone anyways, and I pretty much live at the shop these days...Don't have Hwoarang around to help out anymore." 

"I see," Lei nodded. The detective then flopped down on the couch, fatigue finally hitting him. "Anyway, I think I'll take a nap..." He then stretched out and closed his eyes. 

"Alright then." With that, Paul exited the room. 

Paul casually strolled down the hall, rubbing the back of his neck painfully as he made his way to the living room to watch television. The living room itself was like the guest room that Lei was resting in, stark aside from a couch and a small entertainment center. There were a few pictures on the walls: a framed autographed photo of Jerry Garcia, a print of a Mucha beer muse, various Harley-Davidson memorabilia, and another framed photo of him and Nina Williams taken twenty years ago in Chicago. Paul stopped in front of the photo and smiled remorsefully. 

He was startled by how young and happy he looked then, his arms wrapped around the waist of the blond woman and his chin resting on her shoulder as he clung to her. Nina's blue eyes sparkled and almost matched the steel blue sky that they were standing against. It had been sunny that day, the kind of pleasantly mild weather that only existed in storybooks and movies, and the sunlight had made the photo overexposed and dreamlike. In the corner of the picture frame was a polaroid of Nina's younger sister, Anna, at her high school graduation. The snapshot was dark and gloomy compared to the other photo. However, Anna was smiling brightly in her red graduation robes and was pushing a lock of her auburn hair out of her face. 

Paul chuckled before kissing his fore and middle fingers then lightly pressing them against Nina's face. 

"Somebody loved both you and your sister," he murmured. "Don't you forget it." 

With a hearty sigh, the biker then plopped down on the couch, and he picked up the remote that had been lying on there. After a few minutes of flipping through channels, Paul settled on watching reruns of some sitcom he had never liked. He soon nodded off to the sounds of laugh tracks. 

He awoke to see that the nightly news was on and, aside from the ghostly light of the television, that it was it was completely dark. Paul yawned and rubbed his eyes, and he sat up a bit to watch. Absentmindedly, he reached for the remote and turned up the volume. 

_". . .In other news, G-Technologies is facing a large civil suit concerning its medicinal branch, New Vision Medical. No details have been released aside from claims of human rights violations at one of New Vision's facilities in Nebraska. . ."_

Paul leaned in as he listened, remote still in hand, and he shook his head in pity. 

_". . .The recent announcement of the law suits has caused G-Tech's stock prices to plummet. However, most experts are expecting the suits to be settled out of court--"_

"Heh, more money hungry people trying to make bank off of tragedy," Paul chuckled as he hastily changed the channel. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder as he heard a door creak open down the hall. With his head still turned toward the hallway, Paul lowered the sound of the television. He sighed with relief when Lei emerged, rubbing his eyes as he fumbled his way towards the other man. 

"Damn, you're just sitting in the dark?" Lei mused as he sat down next to the biker. Paul nodded and turned his attention back to the television; a local commerical for used furniture played on screen. Lei leaned back in his seat, "Anything good on?" 

"News just went off. G-Tech's getting sued again." 

"Huh," Lei rolled his eyes. "You'd think that after a few major law suits, they'd fold." 

Paul shrugged, "They might this time." His eyes were still glued to the television; the biker then sat up a bit and pointed the remote at the television to change the channel again. 

***** 

Heihachi Mishima sat in his private jet that evening, waiting for take-off. The elderly man's face was drawn down in a tight frown as he stared down at the opened leather binder on his lap. It filled with hastily gathered info that had been sent to him that morning, Photos, letters, data sheets, medical charts, and other archiveable materials were in there, along with a couple of data cds that had been stuffed in the binder's inside pockets. He shook his head once and sighed out of pity as he turned the page to reveal a photo a child wrapped in bandages and sitting in a wheelchair. 

He had always been a stern man, however with age Heihachi had become more of a humanitarian. A fear had grown in Heihachi in those twenty years after he regained his company, a fear of the possibility of someone someplace could possibly be as sick as his son had been. The frown beneath his thick grey mustache tightened, and the old man snapped the binder shut, unable to stomach reading anymore. An electronic chime sounded, indicating that the jet was ready for take off. 

As the jet flew lazily, the old man watched the sun sink beneath the layers of clouds. From that high up, the sunlight was still hard, though fiery red until finally its light faded into the soft colors of twilight, then evening. The world below twinkled, threads of dainty white and rosey lights, and the plane started ease down towards the ground. And more lights appeared below, and the bright red candy lights of cars' break lights could be seen. Soon, the plane touched ground at a private landing strip. 

When the elderly Mishima got off the jet, he was greeted by workers and his driver, most that hadn't ever met him, or if they had, hadn't seen him in years. The old man stood dignified and erect in his black business suit, still a physical powerhouse though in his mid-seventies, and his hair was completely grey and white, balded out on the top, but still the sides and back of Heihachi's head were covered. The color in his eyes had faded since his grandson had died, now light brown and sad. Somehow, the sense that the Mishima empire was going to end soon with Heihachi's passing on eminated from those eyes, something that had always been dreaded within the company until Jin had sought out the older man seven years ago, and now rekindled when they saw the ill-spirited Mishima. 

The already darken world was dimmed through the tinted windows of the black sedan that Heihachi in, watching as the weaken street lights emerged and slipped by one by one as he was driven through the little Nebraskan town, and soon the car pulled through a residental area full of old houses, falling apart and frail. There were few porch lights on that evening, yet the driver maneuvered well in the darkness, and soon he found his way out of the maze of run-down homes and out into open, dark highway. 

"How far out is this place?" Heihachi asked quietly from the backseat, his gaze still at the window as he squinted, trying to make out the world beyond the tinted glass. 

The driver glanced back, "Just another twenty miles or so. G-Tech didn't want anyone knowing about what they were doing." 

"I would imagine," the old man murmured. The image of the little girl he saw in that file burned in his memory, the thin fragile child covered in gauze and how twisted her little skeletal frame had been, and her skin, withered and dark like weathered bark. And the tears that were rolling down her cheeks, her mouth gaping as if screaming for help, none of which Heihachi could shake from his mind. 

It wasn't long before a large, brick building could be seen, lit up by several spotlights on the back of trucks and the comparatively weak rose colored street lights. The first thought that came across Heihachi's mind was that it reminded him of those archtype mental homes in movies: unbelievably bland, large, and isolated, yet overwellingly sad behind its huge iron fence. The driver was stopped at the gate of the fence by an armed soldier, dressed in a camouflaged uniform and a black beret and boots. The officer glanced into the driver's side window, and when he saw the Mishima, he straightened up and saluted before letting the car pass through the gates. Heihachi looked forward. 

The entire outside grounds were swarming with armed soldiers, both government and the personal guardsmen Heihachi himself had dispatched out there that morning as soon as he had gotten the memo. Again, the sedan was haulted again when it pulled up to the entrance by another soldier. Frustrated, Heihachi opened the door and stepped out, startling the soldier. The young man stood up and quickly saluted the elderly man. 

"Mr. Mishima," the soldier began still at attention, "Glad that you could make it out in such short notice." The younger man went at ease as Heihachi nodded at him. 

"I felt it was an emergency," the old man said softly. "So, this is the fabled New Vision test facilities. Not what I expected at all." The young soldier nodded and gestured to the Mishima to follow him insided. Heihachi obliged quietly. 

He gasped when he finally went through the glass double doors. The old, rundown look that was outside had been nothing more than a facade. Just in the lobby, the amount of sophisticated machinery and architecture inside floored Heihachi; there was a complex camera system, and from the lobby, there was a huge screen of monitors showing each of the patients' rooms in the building. 

"As you read in that fax we sent," the young man began as he led the elderly Mishima down one of the halls of rooms, "G-Tech had listed this particular operation as a rehabilitation center for burn victims." 

"Well, from the photos, it certainly looked like it was," the older man said quietly. As he passed each brightly polished stainless steel door, he noted the electronic locks and entry keypads, each one with a bright red LCD light flashing steadily, indicating that they were locked and armed. Also, all the doors had a single slender window, most darkened that night, though there were a few lights on, and the faces of deformed wards could be seen pressed up againsted the glass, sometimes yelling and beating on the doors desperately as the two men walked by. 

"That's what we thought at first," the soldier sighed as he stopped in front of one door. He sighed heavily and hesitated before tapping in a number code on the keypad. There was a faint click then a beep, and the red light on the door turned green and stopped flashing. 

"How do you mean?" 

The younger man hesitated, "I think...it's best that you see for yourself, sir." The soldier then opened the door to the darkened room slowly and moved out of the way of Heihachi's view. 

"What in the world...?" he whispered. 

There was a young woman clad in a hospital gown sitting the middle of the floor, legs drawn up to her chest as she rocked back and forth and mumbling to herself. Unlike most of the patients, she wasn't crippled nor her complextion scarred, and she looked forward. There were heavy bags beneath her eyes, and her dark hair was limp and unkept. She went silent then looked up at the two men, and her eyes narrowed. The woman then went back to her chanting and rocking. 

" 'They took away my baby'," Heihachi murmured. 

"What?" the younger asked as he glanced over at the Mishima. 

"She's saying that someone took away her baby. She's speaking in Japanese." Heihachi kneeled next to the young woman and began conversing with her softly in Japanese, asking her questions. 

She blinked in shocked when she realized that he understood her, and the girl stood up and began frantically chattering and gesturing wildly as she told her story, which the more Heihachi listened, the more disturbed he became until finally the girl ended with one final motion with her hands. She then sat down on her bed and buried her face in her palms to weep, and the color drained from the elderly man's face as something she had said sunk in. Heihachi stood up numbly. 

He turned to the younger man, "She's not wearing an ID bracelet. I need to know her name." 

"Uh, just a second." The younger man pulled a walkie-talkie from one of the many pockets on his uniform and spoke into it. He waited a bit and listened to static before he heard a voice answer him, which was too faint for Heihachi to hear what was said from where he stood. 

"No name on record, just a patient ID number. There's a couple of other patients listed like that, including the one that escaped." 

"One escaped?" Heihachi repeated, lifting a brow in concern. 

The other man nodded, "An employee here called the police to report a missing person, despite knowing the dangers. Then we were called in... We basically found a place full of human guinea pigs." Heihachi nodded and slipped out of the room, leaving the weeping woman to herself. The door latched shut and automatically locked itself after beeping once. 

"So, I'm guessing," the man continued, "that most of these patients were admitted by family members who didn't know that G-Tech's methods were untested and unapproved by the FDA--" 

"--It's much worse than that," Heihachi said quietly. The younger man blinked, confused. "Show me where the escapee was living." 

With a quick salute, the young soldier replied, "Right this way, sir." 

Again, the two men walked briskly through the halls, trying their best to get past the sounds of crying and banging until the younger man again stopped a darkened room and punched in the number to unlock the door. A click and a beep, and he pushed opened the door. As Heihachi stepped in, the younger man reached inside the door to the wall and fumbled around until he clicked on the lights. Heihachi blinked as his vision blurred to adjust to the sudden brightness, and when he realized what he was looking at he let out an amused chuckle. 

The room was well decorated and looked like a lived in apartment, the wall furthest from Heihachi was covered with shelving with books on them. The bed was messed up from where someone had slept, but unlike the others covered in thin white sheets he had saw, this one was had a stylish navy blue quilted bedspread on it. There were framed prints of paintings on the walls, all of which were of landscapes. And in the middle of the room, a wooden dinette set stood; a book sat on the table, its pages marked by a red ribbon bookmark. 

"Odd..." Heihachi commented as he wandered over to the bookshelves and plucked a leather binder off of it; he flipped through it nonchalantly for moment, before pausing. The old man's face then darkened with thought as he read, his lips moving silently. 

"Sir?" the young man asked. 

Heihachi looked up, "Yes?" 

"Is everything alright?" 

"Oh, yes, fine," he said as he placed the binder back on the shelf. "I'm sorry, the handwriting in that journal caught my eye." 

"Really?" the young man said as he pulled his beret off and joined Heihachi in the room. "What about it?" 

"It's nothing important really," the Mishima shrugged. "It just looks like my son's handwriting." 

"You think...maybe it's he's the guy we're looking for?" 

Heihachi shook his head, "No. He's been dead for twenty years." He hesistated for a moment then continued, "His younger brother and I had him cremated." 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four 

Hwoarang laid on his side that evening on the floor where he had made his bed for the time he had planned on staying with the Changs. Aside from a phone call from Julia that day saying she was going to be very late that night, he hadn't seen or heard from her. He had ended up spending most of the day helping Michelle around the house and watching television. 

"I know, this is boring you," the older woman had said sadly as she passed Hwoarang a plate to dry as they did dishes together earlier. "I'll have a word with Jules about that. That's just so rude of her!" Hwoarang shook his head and told her not to worry about it. Somehow, he knew that this was something that had to do with Jin, and it was best he just dealt with it. 

The young man sat up and rubbed his eyes; it wasn't particularly that late, but he had nothing better to do but sleep. However, he wasn't tired. Hwoarang stood up, stretched, then made his way over to where his duffle bag was sitting. Quickly and quietly, he dressed. 

He left the house and took the key that Michelle always left over the front door frame in case of emergencies, and he trotted down the driveway and down the street. He wouldn't get far, he knew, since the actual bars and such were a ways out from the house, but Hwoarang's trot slowed to a lazy stroll as he decided to enjoy the nice, cool evening. He shoved his hands into his green camouflaged army jacket that he wore over his grey t-shirt and khakis cargo pants. 

Soon, the residental area was behind him, and smaller, older homes started to appeared. Hwoarang frowned when he realized where he was, and he sped up his pace to a brisk walk, and he went past the houses, only looking forward. His walk quickened more and more until he was running as the feeling that he couldn't get out of that neighborhood fast enough came over him. He stopped only to lean over and catch his breath, yet when he straighted up, chest still heaving he looked up at the little house that he was standing in front of and a lump formed in his throat. 

_That would be my luck... _he thought to himself bitterly as he tried to start walking again. However, he found himself staring at the old peeling paint light green paint of the house and the rotting wood on its window shutters. There were lights on, which only exhilarated him more, and his heart raced as he stared at the front door, and a ringing in his ears blared. Suddenly, everything about him became calm, and he listened. Arguing, as he expected, a man's voice screaming at a crying woman as she screeched back in Korean. His hands balled up into fists as he fought the urge to barge in and hit the man. With an angry huff, Hwoarang turned to leave, yet before he could walk away the front door slammed opened, and the boy jump, startled by the loud boom it had made. 

"Bobby, that you?" a deep voice growled. Hwoarang turned around slowly and sighed heavily. 

"Yeah, hi," the boy mumbled at his father. 

Jonas was the man's name, and he was angry looking man, his face weathered with frownlines. He was taller and more muscular than Hwoarang, and like the boy, his head was covered with light brown hair, though it was slicked back, making his receeding hair line more prominent. Again, like Hwoarang, he had hazel eyes, though there wasn't a shred a friendiness behind them. Just a coolness that the boy had never gotten used to. The man was still dressed for work, a soiled demin mechanic's jumper with his name neatly stitched in red over his right breast. 

From behind the huge man, a tiny Asian woman peeked out, and Hwoarang's heart sank. He could see the bruises on his mother's face. The petite woman, Myung, pushed her way out past Jonas and scurried up to her son to hug him. The boy smiled sadly and clung to her, lifting her light frame with ease. When he pulled back, he blinked, taken back by how old his mother looked. It just seemed like she had aged so much since the last time he had seen either one of his parents, the bags under her eyes and all the grey skewn in hair he remembered as being jet black. She was wearing the melon sundress he always remembered her wearing when he was little. 

"You've been eating well?" Myung asked, her voice small and heavily accented. 

The boy nodded and responded in Korean, "Yeah, the military takes good care of me. I'm going to start going to school next fall." Her eyes lit up and she smiled brightly and hugged him again. 

"I'm so proud, and you've gotten so handsome," she replied pleasantly, also in Korean. Hwoarang grinned weakly and thanked his mother. He then glanced up at his father, who crossed his arms and glared at the boy. With another sigh, Hwoarang hugged his mother one last time. 

"I have to go, Mama," he said, this time in English. Her face became mortified when he said that and she pulled away completely. 

"Where will you go?" she asked, eyes wide and not understanding. 

He smiled at her, "I'll be fine. You know I always manage." He forced himself to turn and walk away, and he didn't look back, though he could hear his mother crying out for him. And again, he started running, this time back in the direction he had came. It wasn't he had gotten completely out of that neighborhood did he stop, and it was then he realized that he had been crying the entire time that he had been running. The young man brought a palm up to his eyes to wipe them then started to head back to the Changs' home. 

Julia's car was in the driveway when he returned, and the lights were on in the house; Hwoarang rolled his eyes as marched up the driveway. When he reached the door, he placed the key back over the door then knocked. There was a pattering of feet before the door opened. 

"There you are!" Julia sighed as she stepped out of the house and shut the door behind her. "Mom and I were getting worried." He was silent and stared blankly at the girl. 

She shook her head, "I'm sorry I took so long, but I ran into Xiaoyu, and she ended up dragging me all over the place." Julia then made a face, "She got really excited when she heard you were in town." 

When he didn't respond, she added, "Anyway, I promised myself I'd take you out." She tugged at the tight green cut-off t-shirt she was wearing with her flared jeans as if suddenly embarrassed that her navel was showing or how obscenely tight the shirt was, revealing her lack of bra. Secretly, that amused Hwoarang, however it wasn't enough to keep from being upset. 

"Oh," he finally replied curtly. 

"I really am sorry, Rang." 

"I'm not upset," he insisted. 

She frowned, "You're starting to sound like Jin." He narrowed his eyes at that response and turned around. Without saying a word, he walked to the car. Hwoarang then turned around, crossed his arms, and leaned against the Cadillac, waiting for Julia to join him. For a moment, she stood on the porch in shock that he had walked off, but she quickly recomposed herself and scurried over to meet him. She unlocked the doors, and they both got in, not saying anything to each other. 

The ride was silent for the most part as she drove to the downtown and past the bars that were just starting to get busy that evening. She pulled up a red light. 

As they waited for the light to change, Julia said bitterly, "You know, I'm getting really fucking tired of this, Hwoarang." 

He glanced over at her then looked forward, "Well, then stop comparing me to Jin fucking Kazama, and we'll both be happy." 

"I never do that!" Julia gasped and she turned in her seat at him, hurt that he had said that. 

"Yes you do. You always have." His eyes were still forward. "I've never measured up to him to you and never will." 

"That's not true! You're one of my best friends, you know that!" 

Finally, he turned to look at her, "I don't _want_ to be your fucking friend, Jules." She didn't reply yet stared wided eyed at her companion, and for a moment it looked like she was going to cry. She didn't however, and turned back around silently in time to see the light change. She slammed on the gas and sped the rest of the way to where she had planned on taking him, the Friar's Cafe. 

She pulled into the parking lot of the cafe, which was surprisingly full, and still going at a fast pace, Julia maneuvered her way around until she found a parking spot near the front. Angrily, she shut off the car and slumped back in her seat, arms crossed. Hwoarang rolled his eyes and crossed him arms as well. The two refused to look at each other and sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. 

"Are you going to get out anytime soon?" she asked, still obviously upset. Her voice was shakey, again suggesting that she wanted to cry. However, she fought off tears, determinded not to in front of him. 

"Ladies first," he replied coolly. That ended up being what made Julia break down, and she hunched over, sobbing. Hwoarang turned in his seat to face her, still frowning. "Jules?" 

"Just leave me alone, alright?" she choked between sobs, her head still down. 

"I'm sorry." 

She lifted her head and threw up her arms in frustration, "No, you're not! You never mean that when you say it!" Again, she hunched over, this time burying her face in her palms. 

Hworang's frown deepened, "Yes, I am. I'm sorry for a lot of things." He looked forward, "I know you don't believe me I say this, but Jin hurt me just as much when he said that he didn't want to have anything to do with either one of us. But, there's nothing I can do about that now." He looked over at the crying girl ,again, sighed heavily and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I really am sorry about that. I lost two good friends that day." 

_So, is it always going to be me apologizing?_ he wondered idly as he wrapped an arm around Julia and hugged her. He pulled away to brush a lock of hair from her face and kissed her gently on the forehead. 

"We can't keep doing this to each other," she whispered as she pulled away hastily and got out of the car. He did the same and followed her as she marched to the cafe. She stopped at the door and stared at her reflection in the glass; her eyes were red and puffy, and she shook her head as she saw Hwoarang jogging up behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him then back at the door before pulling it open and stepping in. She held the door open for him. 

He didn't, however, go in. Instead, he gestured at her and turned back around to fhe parking lot and walked away. 

Julia sobbed once and followed. 

The trip back to the house was long and silent. They refused to speak and look at each other the entire time. As soon as she pulled up in the driveway and shut off the car, Julia jumped out of the car and slammed her door. Hwoarang cringed and meakly followed. 

He gladly slept on the couch that night though he was uncomfortable, and he tossed and turned constantly. Eventually, he gave up and sat up, swinging his legs over to sit correctly on the couch. He then crossed his arms and rested his elbow on his knees. He ended up just staring into space for an hour or so until he heard a door open cautiously down the hall and latch shut. A few moments later, Julia emerged, clad in nothing more than tank top and a pair of panties. Hwoarang glanced over at her at her then back forward again in to the darkness. Silently, she walked over to him and stood directly in front of him. 

"I don't want to go to bed angry," she said softly. "Rang, I can't stay mad at you." 

He chuckled, "Sure could had fooled me. I've been under the impression that you've been mad at me since Jin died." He shuddered a bit when he felt her fingers running through his hair, and he repressed any urges as they surfaced, though it was difficult. 

"I haven't," she frowned and pulled away her hand. She sat down next to him and leaned over in the same fashion to better eye him. "Rang, we messed around once and got caught. That was both of us. Not just you, not just me." Hwoarang blinked, surprised by the frankness of what Julia had said, then managed a light chuckle before turning away. "I can't be mad at you for something we both did." 

Julia hesitated for a moment before continuing, "And I can't say that I'm sorry that it ever happened." 

"So, you're finally admitting that we had something?" 

"Yes, a fling." 

"A fling?" Hwoarang lifted a brow then laughed maliciously. "A fling." He groaned still laughing, covered his face, and fell backwards onto the couch cushions. Julia said nothing as she listened to her companion laugh underneath his hands. 

Finally he pulled away his hands from his face and chuckled up at her, "I guess that's the best I'm going to get from you." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means he's still won," he sighed, a weak grin across his lips. "Kazama's been dead for two years, and he still gets the last fucking laugh. It's brilliant, fucking BRILLIANT!" 

"Hwoarang!" 

"No, really, I'm not mad." He sat up, "I'm getting used to this shit, but I'm just can't figure out why you hate me so much." 

Julia shot up, hands on her hips, "I don't hate you." 

He looked up at her and arched a brow; however he didn't replied and slipped off of the couch to his knees and in front of her. His hands slowly slid up up her bare thighs, and they stopped between her legs. He then leaned in and lightly pressed his lips against the thin fabric of her panties and the most sensitive area there, and he held them there for a moment. Just long enough for her to respond by running her fingers through his hair again, and he looked up at her, face unreadable. 

She pulled away from him completely, "This is what caused all our problems to begin with." With that, Julia crossed her arms and hastily exited. 

With a frown, Hwoarang sat back on the couch and waited for morning. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

He hated hitchhiking, but for the time being, that was all Kazuya could do. He had been traveling by foot for a couple of days now, and aside from a few people that stopped to give him a lift to gas stations and such, he hadn't had much luck. Of course, his problem was that he didn't know where he was going. 

It was raining that day, and he was huddled in a black jacket that a nice couple had donated plus a pair of sneakers a college student had given him as he tried flagging down cars, none of which would stop to for him. In spite of the dismal situation, Kazuya was amused. He was very aware of his appearance, scruffy, dusty-skinned, wild black hair, and dangerous looking with that scar across his face. He pleasantly referred to the look as the escaped mental patient, again amused by close to the truth it was. He waved again at another car, and it sped by. 

"Have people no humanity these days?" he chuckled to himself as he began walking once again along seemingly neverending strip of highway. 

It was probably two or three hours before Kazuya noticed the gnawing in his stomach, and he grimanced as he walked. Hungry. He hadn't once thought of food since he ran off, due to elation from being free finally. His walk slowed a bit, and he folded his arms tightly around his abdomen, in hopes that would make the aches subside for a bit. Just until he could find a way to get something to eat. Eventually, he ended up sitting on the side of the road, too tired and disheartened to move. 

The grey sky darkened into evening as he watched traffic race by, and he sat with his legs crossed indian-style. A few cars honked mockingly at him, though still never stopping to help him. 

It stopped raining well into the evening, and the clouds parted some to reveal patches of starry sky above. It was then that Kazuya decided to start moving on again, his hunger finally curbed a bit, and he was rested at least and somewhat dry. Plus, the traffic had slowed, and less cars were passing by, making it useless to flag cars for the evening. 

He walked for several hours, cars ocassionally whizzing by him as he trudged forward to his unknown destination. He looked up at a huge road roadside and saw that he had crossed the stateline from Nebraska into Kansas, and he noted that he had been traveling southwest. He laughed a bit, quite puzzled on how he knew his geography but couldn't remember his name or where home was. 

As he walked, he hummed to himself. The song was familiar, but he couldn't place a name to it. However, it brought visions of sunny days and children's laughter to him. He smiled as the world around him became more vivid and more pleasant. He saw himself standing on the front lawn of a huge home, a frail woman sitting on porch singing and smiling at him. Running around him were two young boys laughing and playing. The smaller of the two boys stopped in front of Kazuya and peered up, oddly sad, dark eyes that looked up at the man. 

Kazuya stopped humming. 

_"I just wanted company,"_ the little boy said softly. 

The world faded again into darkness and the sounds of cars coasting by snapped the tired man back into reality, and he found that it was raining again and that he was soaked. He shivered once and started walking again. 

It wasn't long before he saw the emergency lights of a parked small hatchback car and the headlights of a pickup truck flashing in the rain several yards ahead, and he could make a few figures, a woman and two men, in the lights. His walk slowed as he approached, and he could finally hear voices over the drumming of the water. 

". . .Look," the woman said sternly, "unless you're going to help me change my tire, I've no business with either of you." Kazuya's heart skipped a beat when he heard the proper Irish tone of the young woman. Yet he still cautiously made his way over to the threesome. 

The woman looked to be in her early twenties and was athletic, and her neatly cut auburn hair and clothes were drenched from the rainy weather, which she wore nothing more than sleeveless white blouse and a pair a black denim capris, and her bra showed through the wet, thin fabric of her shirt. However, she had arms crossed as to keep the men from oogling at her breasts. 

"Aw, little Miss Foreign Bitch doesn't want our company," the largest of the two men cooed at the woman as he took off his baseball cap and shoved into the backpocket of his jeans. As Kazuya got closer, he stopped and was silent as he watched. 

The man that had spoken grabbed at the woman; however, she hit him with swift punch in the stomach and slipped into a defensive stance, her arms out to protect her chest. 

"The fuck?!" the injured man gasped as he doubled over in pain and fell to his knees. The other man quickly lunged at the woman, and she quickly sidestepped when he overshot her, and she rammed him in the back with her elbow. The smaller man stumbled forward, cringed, yet turned back around swinging fratically with both his fists in a sloppy, street fighter manner. She easily dodged and blocked each messy punch, and when the man's rhythm faltered, she grabbed his right arm and forcefully twisted it, flipping the man to the ground with ease. He yelped in pain and arched his back up. 

The woman looked down at the defeated man and shook her head in pity; however, the larger man had recovered by that time and grabbed her from behind. She screeched in shock and struggled against the strong hands that had her in a headlock, and the second man stood up and faced the woman. He pulled out a switch blade and pointed it at her neck, sneering. 

"This one needs to learn her goddamned place," he murmured to himself as he grabbed her from his partner and threw her against the hood of her car. The larger man pulled out his own knife, then flipped the woman over on her stomach, blade aimed at the back of her neck; she whimpered softly. The smaller of the two men began laughing at he watched his friend fondle the woman with his free hand on the hood. However, he felt a tapping on his shoulder. 

When he turned around, he was punched square in the face by Kazuya, knocking the other man face down into the muddy ground. The larger man turned around, knife still in hand, and when he saw his partner on the ground, he pulled away from the woman and charged at Kazuya. With a swift roundhouse, however, Kazuya knocked the switchblade from the large man's hand and then kicked him again with scissor kick on the the shoulder; the thug fell to his knees in pain, but before he stand back up, he was kneed in the face. The smaller man stood up finally, after struggling a bit and ran at Kazuya, who moved out of the way, and the man headed straight towards the woman, who had recomposed herself by then. She decked him with a clean uppercut that sent him flying back on to his partner. 

In a panic, the smaller man scrambled to stand up and frantically nudged his friend, who was still in a daze, before taking off to their truck and leaving his still disoriented partner behind. He jumped in the pickup and without bothering to shut his door, sped off, the driver's door still flapping open as it sped away. Finally, the deserted man came to his senses and stood up and blinked, holding his now broken nose. When he saw that both Kazuya and the woman he had attacked were both standing ready to pounce him, he took off running desperately in the direction his friend had drove off in. 

The woman relaxed, sighed heavily with relief, and turned to Kazuya, "Thank you, I owe you one." She squinted a bit when her eyes met his and frowned. Her forehead had wrinkled up with thought as she stared at the man before her. Absentmindedly, she slicked her wet hair out of her eyes. 

When he saw her eyes, he smiled at her, a geniue, relaxed smile. 

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should had came to help sooner." He glanced over at her car. 

"So," he started again, "You need help with your tire?" 

She nodded, "Well...I can change it myself, but help would be nice." 

"I think I can do that for you." 

The rain made changing her tire a tad more difficult than it should had been, yet she was thankful that Kazuya had stayed to help her. However, she said little aside from what was needed and avoided eye contact with him. 

He watched silently as she threw the blown out tire and her jack in her trunk. 

"Do you need a ride back to your car?" she asked as she slammed the trunk shut. She leaned back on her car and crossed her arms, again trying to cover herself. 

"Don't have one," he replied casually, also crossing his arms. The rain started to beat down harder around the two. 

She blinked and pulled away from her car, "You've just been walking?" 

"Pretty much," he shrugged. 

"The last town was thirty miles north of here." 

"I know." Her frown deepened at that response, and she sighed heavily. 

"I run a bed and breakfast. I can give you a room to stay in for the night and a warm meal," she finally offered reluctantly. 

Kazuya shook his head, "Thank you, but--" 

"--You saved my life," the woman sighed, uncrossing her arms. "Not to mention, you stayed here and helped fixed my car. It's the least I can do." With that, she beckoned at Kazuya and and got into her car. Cautiously, he obeyed and got in the passenger side and closed the door in one sweeping motion. In the dry air inside of the tiny hatchback, it was then he realized how cold and wet he was, and he started shivering a bit. 

As she started the car, the woman said, "By the way, I'm Anna." He straightened up when he heard her voice trail off in the sounds of the engine. An alarm went off inside of him, and stared over at the younger woman in disbelief. However, he saw that sitting between them was the woman that he had met the night he fled the hospital. 

She sat looking forward, very properly and very stiff, her thin hands resting on her skirt covered knees. 

"Well, isn't _this_ convenient?" the Asian woman murmured sardonically as she straightened the white headband in her hair. She then looked over at Kazuya and frowned disapprovingly. He blinked once, and she vanished. 

He shook his head violently and looked forward when he felt the car move. 

"Anna, you say?" he responded, trying to make conversation. 

"Yes, Anna." 

He smiled to himself and glanced back at his companion, "That's a pretty name." 

"Thank you." The younger woman glanced over at Kazuya, "What about you?" 

He lifted a brow, "Hm?" 

"Your name." He was silent and looked forward; the windshield wipers clicked back and forth lazily. 

Finally, he answered quietly, "I'm nobody." Again, there was an awkward silence as Anna tried to think of something to reply with. She sighed heavily when she noticed an exit road sign appear, and she changed lanes. 

"I have a hard time believing that you're nobody," she managed to say after several minutes of digging for the right words. 

Kazuya chuckled a bit, "Well, I woke up one day and found that I didn't have a place in the world anymore. So...I'm nobody." 

"...I think I can relate." She glanced over at him again and smiled weakly. "Just waking up one day to find out that the world just...left you behind." 

His grin grew a little, "Yeah." 

It wasn't long before she turned off of the highway and onto a gravel road, and soon a large home surrounded by a white pickett fence came into view, lit up by its porchlight and a single washed out streetlight. The road wound towards the home then turned into driveway and lead up to a garage that had been added on recently. Anna parked on the driveway. 

The home itself was Victorian, one that had obviously been completely white when originally built, but during restoration had been painted bold, bright colors of olive green, marigold, and poppy red. There were Corinthian columns that formed the entry way on the spacious, open porch, and there was a weathered wood barrel that had been turned into a planter sitting in the far corner of the porch, away from the olive front front door. Like the house, the flowers in there were bright and bold; marigolds and tulips of red and gold, which florished beautifully from being well-tended, inspite of the mostly dry weather that summer. A wooden sign hung over the front door and read: "Dorothy's Rest". 

Kazuya shoved his hands in his pockets as Anna lead him through the dark house and into the kitchen, which then was she finally turned on a few lights, which were wan and isolated in the dark. The kitchen was completely done in white, aside from a few bright accents of citrus fruit, and there were canisters sitting out neatly on the counter. It almost didn't look like it had been lived in, though a tell-tale post-it note on the fridge gave the room a bit of humanity. He sat down at the kitchen table and looked up at his hostess. 

"Wait here for a moment," she said as she turned her back and disappeared into the dark. He watched were she had left, and listened. Anna had a quiet step, and eventually, he couldn't hear her moving around anymore. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see a desk near the front door with a guestbook sitting open on it and a telephone, then he could make out what what he assumed to be the living room, which, like the kitchen, was immaculately clean; a staircase lead up to the second floor from there. The faint sounds of footsteps began again, and he straightened up in his seat when Anna emerged from the dark holding a pile of folded clothes in her arms. 

She smiled wearily, "My ex left a few things last year. I figured you would like some dry clothes." Kazuya nodded once weakly at the younger woman as he stood up. She handed him the clothing, "And I'll show you to your room." 

He followed her silently through the living room and up the stairs. She had already turned on the lights on the next floor, and she led him past several closed doors down the hallway to an opened door at the end. She then turned around and gestured at the older man behind her to enter the room. 

Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was spacious and very clean. A large bed was sitting the corner, neatly made up with a citrus printed bedspread, and there a matching vanity set in the room with a large mirror. 

Kazuya cautiously set the clothing he had been carrying on the bed. 

"Alright," Anna said as she entered herself. "The bathroom and shower are over here," she explained as she strolled over another door, opened it, then reached inside to turn on the light, revealing the rather large bathroom. "There's a linen closet in there with clean towels." She then turned back towards her guest; he nodded at her. 

"I'm going to freshen up myself, then I'll start dinner," she added as she went back to the door. She then smiled sheepishly, "I'm sure you're as hungry as I am." With that, she left Kazuya alone. 

He almost felt terrible that he had to use the shower since the bathroom was spotless, but he was filthy and exhausted. He shed his clothes and folded them neatly on top of the closed toilet seat. He then opened the glass doors to the shower and reached into turn on the warm water before stepping in. 

He was certain now that he knew Anna. The name sounded too familiar, and her face was one that he recalled clearly; her large, sad eyes were something that one wouldn't easily forget. Whenever he looked at her, a rush of emotions came to him, a mix of overwhelming joy but also regret and shame. As he scrubbed himself clean, however, he couldn't remember exactly why he would feel the way he did, and as he tried to recall something about her, nothing concrete came to mind. He shut off the water. 

When he stepped out of the shower, Kazuya went over to the vanity mirror to wash his face. He splashed cold water onto his skin and rubbed his temples painfully as he looked at himself in the mirror, and his view was fixated on the scar that marred his cheeks, then the huge one that slashed across his chest. Behind his reflection, he noticed a shirtless little boy, the one he saw on the highway, scrubbing the floor, and it startled Kazuya. 

The man jerked around and saw that there was no one behind him. 

There was a soft knock on the door, again startling Kazuya, and he whipped up his head towards the door. 

"Are you alright, love?" Anna's voice called from behind the door. He glanced over at the linen closet then went over to find a towel. For some unknown reason, he didn't want to keep her waiting as a terrible sense of dejá-vù came over him. 

When he opened the door, he was still tying his towel around his waist, and he smiled sincerely at her, "I'm fine." 

"Oh, well, dinner's almost finished," she said, forcing a smile. She had changed into a red short-sleeved dress, and Kazuya found himself idly recalling that Anna had always looked nice in red. He noticed that her eyes were fixated on the scar on his chest, and his smile faded. 

"Anna?" he asked cautiously. She shook her hear once and looked up. 

"I'm sorry, I'll let you have your privacy." She blushed and turned away to leave, yet he gently grabbed her arm. Anna turned back around slowly, her eyes meeting his. 

She frowned, "Yes?" 

He released her arm, "I'm sorry." 

"Why are you apologizing?" 

He replied , "I'm not sure why, but...I need to." Anna's frown deepened as he said this, and she turned around fully to face the man. She held a back a real smile, this time, as she looked him over discreetly. 

His towel hung low on his waist, and despite all the scars, she was impressed with how fit he was, and she found that she was attracted the dark, olive color of his skin. And his face. He was a very handsome man and had a boyish charm to his looks, regardless of the scar carved on his countenance. He frowned at her silence and crossed his arms slowly. 

She smiled painfully, "No worries." 

His frown softened and he stepped towards her and placed both of his hands on her shoulders, and he gazed down at her, unsure what made him do that or what was making him act this way. His hands gently, yet cautiously moved from her shoulders and he cupped her face before he leaned in, closed hie eyes, and hesitantly brushed his lips against hers. 

When she didn't respond, he kissed her again, this time more sure. She pulled away, frightened, yet she didn't fight back when he wrapped an arm around her slender waist and pulled her close again. 

"Kazuya?" she whispered, almost afraid to say his name out loud. 

With eyes still closed, he grinned and kissed her once more. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The phone rang, and Hwoarang shot up alarmed from where he had finally nodded off that morning in the living room, still sitting up on the couch from the previous night. He rubbed his eyes and painfully cranked his neck to look over his shoulder towards where the phone was ringing, and he saw Michelle pop out of the family room to pick up the phone. The young man then sighed heavily and looked forward towards the front door and the windows.

It was past noon, he could tell, since the sun light was coming through the windows and hitting him, hard white light that caused him to squint. And he listened to Michelle as she repeated faintly "yes" and "I see" in a solemn voice. Again, he felt out of p lace there, as kindly as she treated him.

Hwoarang looked back again when he heard the clunk of the phone being slammed down then Michelle's footsteps as she entered the living room where he sat. 

"You're finally awake?" the older woman began, forcing a small grin at the boy. He nodded once, and his eyes followed her as she came into the room and sat down next to him. "Good."

He rubbed the back of his neck, "Sorry...I didn't sleep well at all last night."

"No, that's okay, Robert." She glanced over at the windows then back at the younger man. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure."

"Julia's stepmother just called to tell me that Blackwolf's going out to Nebraska. They want Jules to come out so she can see her father before he leaves."

Hwoarang blinked, "Is everything alright?..."

"I don't know," she sighed heavily as she looked forward again. She narrowed her eyes as the bright light shone into them, and her view blurred and faded into a near blinding white before darkening again to show the room in full clarity. She was silent for quite some time, and Hwoarang waited patiencely.

Finally she whispered, "Go with her."

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know why, but she has this thing where she doesn't want me around her father's family."

"I know," the older woman replied quietly as she turned her attention back to Hwoarang. "That's almost entirely my fault. The divorce was so messy--" Michelle stopped and let out a heavy huff. In response, he nodded once and leaned back in his seat to listen.

"Michelle?" 

Again, silence. 

He sat up and repeated himself, "Michelle?"

"Can I tell you a story, Robert?" she blurted finally. 

Hwoarang blinked and leaned back in his seat again, "Yeah, sure." Michelle glanced over at him and flashed a grin, a genuine smile, and she turned in her seat to to fully face the young man.

"When I was around your age," she began, still smiling, "I spend a year or so traveling with my boyfriend. I had went to Chicago to spent Christmas with him. My mother knew where I was at the time. It's just, well, I guess I had no desire to come back here after I saw what I did. And I loved my boyfriend. He needed me. He really did."

Hworang leaned forward towards Michelle, "What did you see?"

"Do you believe in God?" she asked.

"No."

"I see." She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the hallway, as if expecting someone to enter the room. She then looked back at Hwoarang. "What do you believe in?"

He shrugged, "Nothing, I guess. After the way I've been treated most of my life, I have no reason to believe that there's someone looking over me." He then frowned, "But what does that have to do with your story?"

"What do you believe in, Robert?" she asked again. 

"I don't understand what you're asking me."

"What do you believe in?" 

Hwoarang awoke with a start and sat up that morning in the living room, still on the couch from that night. The sun hadn't risen yet, however he could hear song birds already singing, and he could see the sky was a dark green already from behind the thin curtains. His heart was racing, and he glanced around the room, troubled by the dream he had just. He then stood up and crept down the hall to Julia's room.

Cautiously, he pushed the door open, stepped inside the room, and reached behind to carefully latch the door shut. He then went over to the bed, slowly lifted the comforter that Julia was sleeping under, and slid into bed next to her.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. Then he waited. 

For what, he wasn't sure, though in his head, he played out different situations: Julia jumping out of bed and hitting him, Julia murmuring Jin's name, Julia not responding at all, and so forth. His hands affectionately stroked her stomach as he lay next to her. She finally shifted and turned her body to face him, he closed his eyes and began kissing her neck.

"Hwoarang?" she asked softly when him laid flat on top on her, his response only his fondling and kissing as he moved lower on her body. He paused only to nip on one of her nipples through the cotton of her tank top until it was hard and erect. She groaned softly and ran her fingers through his hair, and he moved lower to between her legs, like he had just a few hours before, and tugged off her panties before parting the swollen lips with his index and middle fingers then leaning in to start suckling her clit.

"Hwoarang?" she repeated in a gasp. "Can I ask you something?" He remained silent and rubbed his tongue against the ripening piece of flesh. Her hands clasped to the sides of his head, and she arched up into his mouth as he licked and sucked faster until she orgasmed.

The only sound in the room was her heavy breathing, and she lovingly stroked his hair, he laid on her stomach, still wondering why he came into her room. Her breathing slowed eventually and was in unison to his. He moved up to kiss her on the lips, which again, she didn't object and even kissed him back, their mouths moving together lazily. He pulled away and rested his head on her chest. 

"Do you believe in God?" she asked. He looked up at her, confused. When he saw Julia's face, Hwoarang sat up, alarmed.

She was smiling up at him sweetly, and she reached a hand out to touch his cheek.

His eyes narrowed, "I don't understand what you're asking me."

"What do you believe in?"

The phone rang. Hwoarang rubbed his eyes and saw that it was morning. He was stretched out on the couch, where Julia had left him the previous night. And he sat up slowly and listened to the phone ring over and over again as he waited for Michelle or Julia to pick up. However, after the seventh ring, it stopped. He stood up and went down the hallway to Julia's room.

Her door was ajar, and so he poked his head inside. She wasn't there, and her bed was neatly made up. He glanced around the room then walked over to his duffel bag to grab a change of clothes. However, he stopped in front of the vanity mirror.

He hated all of the pictures that Julia had left up there. He hated looking at himself then, at her and Jin together, anything that dealt with life before Jin had died. Yet, he found it harder to look at his own reflection than at the photos. He had spent so much time being defiant, trying desperately to be a free spirit. But now, he couldn't stand looking at himself. So, this was supposed to be bettering his life? Being miserable, being meek, _conforming_. She had broken his spirit.

No, Jin Kazama had broken his spirit.

"Rang?" He glanced over at the door at Julia, who leaned fully dressed in the door. She looked as tired as he did, however. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure," he said as he fully turned around to leave the room.

She smiled painfully at him, "My father's leaving for Nebraska today, and well..."

"Can I come with you?"

"Please," she said softly. "And...I want to go to Jin's grave today."

He let out a heavy sigh and nodded, "Of course. I want to visit him, too." She nodded and turned to leave, and he crossed his arms and watched as she walked away.

*****

A suffocating sadness, that was almost the only thing Hwoarang noticed as he sat on the rough carpetted floor of the Blackwolf home. He hadn't said a word the entire time he was there, aside from introducing himself and hellos. Instead, he just watched.

Navajo and Spanish were being thrown around, probably because he was present. He hated not knowing was was going on and being deliberately left out, and aside from some of Julia's younger half siblings, everyone paid little mind to him. Even Julia's attention was taken fully as her father spoke to her in a hushed tones from inside the kitchen. Hwoarang rested a hand on his cheek.

Being an outsider. That was something he was used to. He had only felt like he belonged once, when he had been taken in by Doo San Baek and his little hoods. Even after he left, thinking he had found friends, Hwoarang still wished he could speak to Baek about what was going on.

"The important thing is to better yourself in the end," the older man had said to the boy. "I want nothing more for you to find a way out. No one should have to spend their rest of his life the way I am."

"Rang?" He looked up at Julia. "Are you ready to go?" He nodded and leaned against the hard carpet to stand up. He then stretched and yawned. And, like always, he followed her obediently. 

When they got in the car, he asked, "So, what was wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Julia replied in a frank voice; she started the car. "I guess they got some kind of phone call from Mishima saying that they were going to reward my dad's family some money because of the G-Tech scandel..."

"Well, at least someone's offering to pay compensation..." The car rolled carefully out of the driveway. 

Julia put the vehicle in gear, "Maybe, but... no one in our family was sent to Nebraska. Everyone's confused, but they keep getting letters and phone calls regarding the whole thing. They wanted me to ask my mother to look into it, since she's an attorney and all."

Hwoarang lifted a brow, "And you say people just keep insisting that your father's family is going to be rewarded?"

"Yeah...My dad is going to go to Nebraska to speak to some reps from Mishima about it, and he wanted Mom to help out..." She frowned, "Sometimes, I just wished he'd ask her himself. I'm tired of being his messenger." 

Hwoarang was silent at that remark and looked forward at the rows of run-down houses that they drove past, though in most of the lawns, there were children playing and sprinklers going to salvage what little grass was still green. The world beyond his window slowed as he watched. His eyes followed a little girl in a pink sun dress chasing a hula hoop with a stick in her pudgey little olive hand, and her long dark hair flapped behind her as she ran. He watched her grow further and further away, until not only could he not see the girl any more, but the houses receded away in the distance, and Hwoarang cranked his head back.

He knew that he would never go on the reservation again.

The ride to the cemetery was silent, though Hwoarang found himself wanting to scream on the top of his lungs. He wanted to kick the glove compartment in front of him until the door fell off. He wanted to roll down the windows and climb up on the roof. He wanted to turn the radio up full blast. Just anything to end the unbearable quiet.

After what felt like an eternity, black iron fence of the cemetery came into view, as did the large grotesquely beautiful sculptures of the older, more elegant tombstones. They were surrounded by the small, modern headstones, all of which were mechanical looking. Somehow, it looked more like cement garden to him than a cemetery; he didn't remember it being so carefully laid out when he last visited two years ago. His eyes were fixated on the huge crypt that was ahead; there was a huge statue of angel in front of the doors, protecting the entrance. Hwoarang swore he saw Julia tense up at the sight of the sculpture from the corner of his eye. Massive stone wings that spread out and the weathered face of the angel, a little boy with the heavy burden of wings and guardianship.

She parked the the car near the gates.

Neither made an attempt to get out right away. Hwoarang didn't want to see Jin's grave again. It seemed like once enough, and now, he was only there to be polite. However, he could sense the same reluctance in Julia. That ended up making him take the initiative to get it all over with , and he opened his door and stepped out. 

She did the same.

They walked together in the garden of stones, all the newer headstones polished like gemstones, and light reflected off of the smooth surfaces; Hwoarang found it hurt to even keep his eyes open. He couldn't close his eyes for a bit, however, even to keep out the burning sunlight. The visions of stone angels and gargoyles that surrounded him and her wouldn't let him close them.

She stopped in front a red granite stone and kneeled. Hwoarang shoved his hands in his pants pocket and waited.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked quietly, as she gingerly traced the etched letters of the name chiselled there with a finger; her eyes never left the glassy surface of the speckled stone.

"No."

"What do you believe in, Rang?"

"Nothing."

She hesistated before continuing, "I know...you hate it when I talk about Jin."

"No, it's not that at all," he murmured; his hands dug deeper into his pockets. "It's just because...you really don't talk about him. I don't either, though."

She nodded, gaze still fixated forward. "He was afraid of dying."

"Aren't we all?"

She looked over her shoulder and up at Hwoarang. He was startled by the fact that she wasn't crying at all; she looked more angry if anything.

"I'm sorry," he said. Another apology.

"I'm not angry at you," she insisted before turning her back to him again. "That's something I want you to understand."

He squatted down and stared at the stone before him. 

The lettering was simple, yet elegant. Hwoarang's frown deepened when he noticed his reflection on the tombstone. It was faint, almost blurred out from the colorful refractions from the flecks of stone, and his face was carved into by the letters of Jin's name. He huffed angrily and stood up.

She stood up, though she kept her gaze on the headstone, "You're ready to leave, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

They sat in the car for a few moments in silence, as usual taking care not to look at each other, eyes locked forward. It was starting to get dark, and sky was reddening. Hwoarang watched the shadows shift and stretch on the angels that seemed to take flight in the fading light. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

"You think Kazama's laughing at us up there?" he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"He's not."

Hwoarang let out a chuckle and opened his eyes, "You sound pretty sure about that, Jules."

"You said you didn't believe in God," she responded. "So, what do you believe in?"

"Do _you_ believe in God?"

She looked over at him, "I don't know. I know...that I can't just say I don't believe in anything. But I don't know what I'm supposed to believe in."

He sat up and blinked, "Wait a second...what did you see?" 

She was silent and turned back; her hands were gripped the stirring wheel tightly, and her knuckles turned white.

"Jules? What did you see that night?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, "You saw more than just him getting killed, didn't you?"

She started the car.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"Hey, you want breakfast?" Paul asked nudging Lei lightly. The detective groaned and turned on his side as he pulled the covers he was under up to his chin. "...Guess not." 

"Give me fifteen minutes," murmured Lei as he made himself comfortable again; his breathing slowed, and he drifted back into sleep. The biker shrugged and tiptoed out of the room to let his guest be.

It was was bright and clear that morning, and Paul's little home was lit up by the blank, hot sunlight slicing through the open blinds throughout the house. He went down the hall and into the kitchen, where a bit of breakfast was made; again, he wasn't used to having guests over, and normally wouldn't had bothered making anything. However, there was some bacon laid out on a plate and and some toast. Paul grabbed a couple pieces of both and made a quick sandwich before heading back into the living room.

On the couch, Paul's financial books were opened; he had been working on taxes for the summer, partially disappointed in the little business his garage had had recently. At the same time, however, he was enjoying the extra free time. The biker sat down, made himself comfortable, and took a large bite out of his sandwich as he read over his notes for the third time that day.

He hated Sundays. It always seemed like there was something missing for him on that day of the week particularly. He found long ago that it wasn't church, since church had done little for him through life. Between his father's suicide and Nina, Paul really didn't see a point in going anymore: no matter how long he prayed and sat in a pew, the worst happened. 

Paul glanced over his shoulder towards the hallway and smiled to himself before taking another bite of his meal. He did rather like having Lei over, even though the detective seemed to be depressed about something. Lei had said little about why he came back to Dreyfus, and Paul had no desire to ask. He just enjoyed the company.

The doorbell buzzed once, and Paul looked back over his his shoulder at the front door and frowned. Another ring, and he stood up to answer the door; he placed his sandwich on a plate as he passed the kitchen counter on his way to the front room.

His frown deepened when he opened the door.

"Yes?" he asked. The woman standing before him had been looking behind her shoulder, and she jumped at the sound of Paul's raspy voice. She turned back and smiled nervously at the blond. 

"I'm sorry, did I wake you, sir?" she asked. He shook his head and discreetly looked the woman up and down. She was a waif Asian woman, her hair cut in a neat bob and bleached red, and she wore a tailored black pants suit and heels. In her hands, she clutched a little black address book to her chest. Paul arched a brow when he saw her face; she reminded him a bit of Jun Kazama.

He chuckled and leaned in the doorway, "Not at all." The woman flashed a nervous grin at the biker and tried to relax a bit. "So, you need something?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Oh?" Paul replied, crossing his arms.

She nodded, "I found your address in this book...and that's his car in your driveway--"

"--Wenny?" Paul glanced over at Lei when he heard the detective's voice. Lei rushed over to the door to greet his would-be finaceé. 

"Lei," she sighed with relief. "I was worried... Chancey is looking for you, and I hadn't heard from you since the other night--" Wenjun stopped herself and glanced over at Paul, who again lifted a brow at her.

"Oh, I should probably leave you two alone, eh?" the biker chuckled as he pulled away from where he was resting, stretching a bit before turning around to head back into the house. "Fine, fine, kick a man out of his own house. I see how it is," he added in a playful whine as he strolled out of the room, hands behind his head. Lei's eyes followed the biker, who disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve his sandwich, and the detective smiled to himself and shook his head before turning his attention back to Wenjun.

She smiled discreetly at Lei when his eyes met hers, "Your friend is quite the character."

"Yeah, that he is," he responded sofly; he stepped outside and latched the door behind him shut. His eyes dropped to the book she was still gripping. 

"What's wrong, Wenny?" Lei asked then, his face darkening. "I know you didn't just fly all the way here to tell me that Chief Chancey's looking for me." He grinned a bit as a pleasant thought came to him, "Especially since Paul's phone number is in that book."

Wenjun frowned a bit, "Well, it _was_ that important... Lei, they're--" She stopped and skewed her mouth a bit in frustration, and her fingers drummed against the leather book. The detective sighed and gestured at her, urging the younger woman to finish.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "Lei, they're reopening that Kazama murder case. Chancey wants you on it immediately."

There was no response from Lei. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a shakey sigh. He then leaned back on the front door.

Finally, he whispered, "I don't think I can go through that again."

"That's what I told him!" Wenjun sighed a relieved grin, before hugging his neck. Lei's arms stayed limp at his sides, however.

She pulled away, "He was just going to call and tell you to stay down here, then he'd just send you the materials you need, and...and...your badge." Lei opened his eyes and stared blankly at the woman before him as she continued, "It was just so much stress on you, and you were gone for so long, and--"

"--Why are you here?"

Her eyes teared up, "I wanted to say this face to face...Lei, come home." She hugged him again then buried her face in his neck to cry. "Come home. Finish up your holiday with me... They'll put Edward on that case, and we'll won't have to worry--"

"--Ed?" Lei groaned, pushing the woman away, "Ed fucking Drummond?" The older man then buried his face in his palms. "Just when I thought my life couldn't get any worse, you bring up fucking _Ed_?"

"Well, who else would Chancey put on this?" She bit her bottom lip and tried to hug him again. He pushed her arms away.

"You have to forgive me for not being happy with you mentioning the bastard I caught you fucking around with, Wenny," he said, crossing his arms.

"We can work through this!" she cried. "Lei, we've been through too much together--"

Lei narrowed his eyes and hissed in a dangerously calm voice, "--You should had thought about that before you decided to fuck my partner in _my_ bed, in _my _apartment." 

With that comment, Wenjun's face hardened. She straightened up and cleared her throat a bit before looking her ex straight in the eyes.

"What was I supposed to do, huh?" she replied coolly. "Every single night, Lei, every single goddamned night, I'd lie in bed alone wondering where the _fuck_ you were, if something had happened to you, if you were hurt. Or worse." She placed her hands on her hips, address book still in hand, "And then when you took up that case involving that Kazama boy, I didn't even know who you were anymore."

Lei rolled his eyes, "Christ, Wenny, you know that's what being a cop is about."

"It's not supposed to be an obsession, Lei!" blurted Wenjun as she balled her hands up in to fists. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "It's...it's not supposed to consume a person like that."

"It wasn't an obsession, it was an obligation," he replied quietly.

"And you don't have an obligation to me?"

Lei blinked, not sure what to respond with. He was silent for a moment and looked away.

Finally, he replied, "I have something I want to show you." His eyes still refused to look at her, and he turned to open the front door. "Wait out here here."

Paul looked up from where he was reading in the living room as Lei marched past him and down the hall, then watched as Lei reappeared, his hand in a fist, and went back out the front door, slamming it. The biker then cringed and went back to his books.

"Oh, good, you're still here," the detective mumbled sardonically as he yanked the door shut. "You want an answer for your question?"

Wenjun nodded in silence. she sniffed once and brought a palm up to her face to wipe away her tears; her eyes were still watery and red, however. She then looked up at Lei, keeping her gaze as steady as she could, though he could tell she was fighting off more tears. His glare softened, then with a heavy huff, the detective gingerly held the younger woman's free hand only to gently open it and dropped what he held in his fist in her palm: the ring he had bought for her.

She gasped, accidentally dropping the address book in shock. Her lower lip quivered as she brought her now free hand to her mouth, her gaze still fixated at the diamond ring in her other hand.

"You're right," Lei said quietly. "I do have an obligation to you. I never forgot that." She was still silent. "But--" he plucked the ring out from her palm, "--This case comes first."

"Lei...I'm..." Her head was down as her shoulders hunched up to cry.

He shook his head, "Don't say anything else. You've said more than enough." She looked up, her face tearstreaked.

Lei then smiled at the younger woman and held the ring out between his thumb and forefinger and eyed it. "After that, there won't be any distractions. Just you and me." She nodded once slowly. Then with a flick of his wrist, the older man flung the ring up then snatched it out of the air with the same hand.

He added with a sheepish grin, "That is, if we even want to by then." Lei then shoved his hand with the ring into his pocket. "Go home, Wenny."

With that, he turned and went back inside, leaving Wenjun to herself.

Lei latched the door shut behind him then pressed his back against with a heavy sigh. Paul looked up again from his books.

"You okay, man?" the blond asked, shutting the large binder he had been marking in closed.

The other man nodded once stiffly and pulled away from the door to join the biker in the living room. 

"Yeah...woman trouble."

"Heh, I know how that goes..." Paul chuckled as Lei came around the couch to sit. "So, that was your girlfriend?"

Lei gave a weak nod before completely slumping down on the couch, "Yeah."

"She's cute. Reminds me a lot of Jun in the face."

"Heh..." The detective rubbed his temples painfully, "Christ, I never even thought of it like that..."

Paul lifted a brow, "Hm?"

"Nothing."

"Right...," Paul smirked to himself, "You need to relax some, it's Sunday."

"I don't see that happening anytime soon..." Lei mumbled as he slid his hands down from his temples to bury his face in his palms. "Besides, it's not like you're not working."

"Eh, it's just filling in numbers and dates," the biker shrugged. "It's like doing a crossword puzzle with the answers in front of you, only not as fun."

"Heh heh...fun...I don't remember the last time I did something for fun..."

"Really?" Paul glanced over at the hallway then back at the other man; his smirk grew, "So, how long are you off-duty?"

The detective turned his head towards the biker and opened his fingers to peek through his hands, "I guess until I call my boss in the morning. Why?"

There was moment of awkward silence, which was broken by Paul's chuckling. Steadily, his laughter grew until he was leaning back in his seat covering his face as he cackled loudly. Lei pulled his hands from his face then slowly straightened up in his seat, brow arched at the man roaring next to him.

"What's so funny?" the detective asked. The only response was more laughter.

It took a few moments for Paul to control himself; when he sat up, his face was red and he was still snickering a bit.

"I think," he said, choking back laughter, "I have something fun for us to do."

*****

The ceiling blurred then focus again.

"Shit..." Lei murmured lazily under his breath, squinting his eyes again as he tried to concentrate on one spot. However, he found that it was too difficult, considering how smooth the white sheetrock of the ceiling was. So instead, he closed his eyes.

The detective was shirtless and sprawled out on the living room floor next to Paul, who also shirtless and humming to himself softly. What the song was, Lei couldn't tell, but he smiled and found himself trying to hum along in vain. He gave up, choosing to listen to his companion.

Lei strained his ears; it almost sounded like Paul was in the other room or even outside the house as the biker's voice grew faint and far off. The detective slowly opened his eyes and turned to look over at the blond, who was sitting up now and silent. This alarmed Lei; however, he couldn't be bothered to sit up right away.

"What's wrong?" he asked slowly. Again, his vision blurred as he concentrate on Paul; he fought all urges to close his eyes.

Paul glanced over his shoulder at the other man, "Nothing at all."

"Right..." Lei chuckled, his voice trailing a bit as he finally willed himself to sit up, although slowly.

"Want me to roll up another one?"

"No, I think we've had enough," said Lei as he crawled over to the blond and collasped in front of him. He stared up at Paul and frowned, "Now, what's wrong?" 

Paul shifted a bit and stretched out on his back next to his companion; he stared up at the ceiling, gaze unfocused and hazy. His chest moved up and down slowly as he breathed.

He glanced over at Lei; their eyes met for a second, which caused the biker to chuckle a bit before rolling his eyes up to stare at the ceiling again.

"What were you and whatsherface arguing about?" he asked, stretching out every word.

Lei grinned and turned his head towards Paul once more, "Everything."

"You going to marry her someday?"

"Nope." The blond blinked then started snickering again. With a final laugh, he turned his head towards the other man, also grinning.

"I wanted to get married once."

"Me too...but not to her." Paul started cackling again. A lock of his hair fell into his eyes,and he brought up a hand to swipe it away. However, it fell back.

"To who then?"

There was silence for a moment, yet Lei smiled remorsefully at the other man. His vision suddenly focused. Everything was clear and crisp now, and he stared at Paul, fascinated for a moment. In the back of his head, he could hear a voice asking why the hell he was staring so hard at another man. However, the voice's reasoning was a lost cause. Lei just continued to grin.

"Not going to tell me?" the blond asked, laughing.

"Jun Kazama."

Paul smiled, "Figures."

"She was...perfect," Lei's smile became almost blissful. 

"Except for that whole fucking Kazuya Mishima thing, huh?"

Lei frowned and looked up at the ceiling, "And she was flighty."

"I know," the blond said quietly, and his smile disappeared. "I found that out the hard way."

"How's that?"

A small, pained grin broke on the biker's face when Lei turned to look at him again. Yet he was silent. 

The detective blinked and sat up, "Oh, wow... Don't tell me she pulled that shit on you too?"

"It probably wasn't as bad as when she left you, man."

"Yeah...and then there was Jin." Lei sat up, rubbed his eyes, then leaned over Paul. The biker stared up at the other man, who frowned down at him. "He could had been my son..."

"But he wasn't. And, fuck, it doesn't matter, Lei."

"I guess you're right, but Christ! Kazuya Mishima, who would had thought?"

Paul frowned a bit, "Didn't surprise me at all. I'm just glad Jin turned out to be a good kid." He then smiled weakly, "He could had been a fucking nutcase, like his dad."

"Or the Anti-Christ."

"Or the Anti-Christ," the blond repeated, laughing. Lei shook his head and began laughing as well. Paul then sat up slowly, then stretched; he was starting to feel his high come down but was hitting that point between complete soberness and being stoned. The point where was a complete understanding of everything: the world, the meaning of life. His surroundings were suddenly more peaceful than he remembered. So much detail and beauty in something as simple as the white color of his walls, or in how the afternoon sunlight was streaming through the blinds and dividing the floor into perfect strips of light and shadow. Even the sounds he heard were like fine music. Songbirds, the blowing and rattling of the air conditioning, the ticking of the clock in the other room, and laughter from another person. 

The laughter of another person.

Humanity, that was what he missed on Sundays.

"So, do you often smoke up with cops?" the detective chuckled when he finally got his laughter under control.

"Only on special occasions."

"Right..."

The two men glanced up at each other, and their eyes locked again for a moment, then Lei hunched over and started laughing again. However, Paul was silent, and he smiled fondly at the other man.

Lei grinned back, "What?"

"Hey, um, thanks," the blond replied.

"For what? Not turning you in for possession of an illegal substance?" the other man cackled.

"No, just for coming over," Paul shrugged.

"No, thank you for letting me stay." Lei's smile softened, "I really appreciate it."


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Heihachi sat at the little dinette set in the missing ward's room. He had spiral notebook he had bought at a gas station the previous day; already, it was half full with notes. Across from where he sat, the young woman that he had spoken with the day before sat on the bed, her hair combed out of her face and dressed in a clean, white cotton dress. She kept glancing over at either the window or one particular painting on the wall of a snowscape. Her hands rested on her knees while she sat up very stiff and properly.

Heihachi smiled, never once looking up at the younger woman; the Mishima cleared then his throat and continued to write in his notebook in a combination of English and kana. When he finished jotting down his notes, the old man glanced up at the woman and let out a chuckle before returning to his notes to skim them over.

It was cloudy that day, and the room was lit up with the sleepy, cold sunlight from outside. The old man hated his surroundings, the obscenely clean environment that seemed to solely exist to contrast the miserable and the ailing. It reminded him too much off all the years he spent in the hospitals with his wife, and even more particularly, when he had to keep vigilance over Kazuya after the boy miraculously returned from the hills. 

Yet he could dimly admit that he found that was girl before him had a certain radiance and vibrance about her, despite her silence; she had stopped speaking after telling her story to the elderly man the night before, which in turn was followed by the eerie peacefulness of her being. Heihachi, however, did not mind the change in her demeanor at all. Particularly, he felt she had no business in such a drab place, that she needed to be outside enjoying the sunlight and the fresh air. 

The elderly Mishima straightened up in his seat then pulled off his reading glasses to place the back in their little leather case. After doing so, he put the case in the inside pocket of his blazer. There was little more he could do today for her, and even less she could for him. Her gaze was fixated at the painting at this time; her face was emotionless as she stared at it. 

It was obvious that she was oblivious to her situation, or at the very least, she was confused. The Mishima wasn't surprised by that at all. Before he was to meet the young woman, Heihachi had spent a good deal of the morning reading through the journals of the lost patient, and what he read perplexed him, as the writing suggested that the patient had no idea of the severity of his situation. On the dinette table, two of the leather binders were sitting, as Heihachi wanted to examine them a tad longer in his hotel room later. 

The old man sighed and stood up to gather his things, and he pulled out his wallet to stick his pen back inside of it. A photo fluttered out.

That caught the young woman's eye, and she shook her head once before turning her attention to Heihachi then to the wallet sized picture on the ground. She then quickly bent over and gingerly picked it off of the tile floor. The old man blinked and could only watch her.

Slowly, she sat back down on the bed. She stared down at the photograph, and her face darkened into thought. Heihachi leaned over to see which picture had fallen out.

"That's my grandson when he was in the eighth grade," he said in Japanese with a sad smile. "He was a handsome one, wasn't he?"

The woman remained silent and stared down at the photo. Jin, who was fourteen then, smiled back from the photo with a shy smile, just barely revealing his chipped front tooth. Though it was just a picture of the boy, there was a warmness that was evident from his eyes. Heihachi found his smile growing as he looked at the picture of his grandson in the younger woman's hands. He then reached out and gently plucked it from her hands. She let out a sharp cry and looked up at Heihachi, eyes wide and her bottom lip quivering before hunching over to weep. He frowned to himself, held out the photo again, and waited.

It was a few moments before she looked up, her face tearstreaked. When she saw the picture in front of her, she hesitated a bit before cautiously reaching out to touch it, as if it was sacred. She then glanced up at the older man, as if asking for his permission. 

He nodded.

Carefully, she took the photograph from his fingers. She smiled then; it was the first time he had seen her do so, even though it was a remorseful, pained smile. With that, he turned to leave, and he strolled towards the exit. However, when he reached the door, he looked over his shoulder.

She was silent again and stared at the photo as it rested in her lap. However, she looked content. 

Heihachi smiled and left.

*****

Kazuya awoke to find himself lying in bed alone. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then rubbed his temples painfully. From the light outside, he could tell that it was nearly noon, and he stood up and twisted his back to stretch it. He stared out the blinds.

It was cloudy, yet the sun was still visible through the thin veil of clouds that hung in the sky; drab brown grass and grey gravel road stretched into the dry horizon. It almost looked like it was autumn outside; however the sticky heat reminded that summer was far from over. 

The warmth of the sunlight was pleasant feeling on his skin since he was still nude from the night before. With a sniff, he strolled over to the bathroom to shower again as he rubbed his shoulders and rolled them to stretch. 

He took his time showering, again the feeling of regret that he felt when he had saw Anna again. Yet, it was different now.

The night before, he had taken her from behind on the bathroom floor, her stomach pressed up against the cold, white tile. Her red dress still on her, the skirt hiked up, exposing her pale back. She murmured his name with every thrust until she grew louder, nearly screaming out for him. However, he stayed silent. Something felt wrong; he knew he been with her that way in the past, yet, he hated himself the entire time. When he pulled away from her, she shifted to her back and stared up at him in apathy with her lips parted as her breathing began to slow back to normal. It was then he was really able to look over her. 

Messy, silken auburn hair, icy blue eyes, flawless skin, perfect body, the rise and fall of her chest as she caught her breath. A malicious smile had curved across her lips, and she began laughing. Kazuya remained silent, however. Anna managed to stifle her laughter, but bit her bottom lip at the older man still smiling, taunting him. It was as if she was daring him to make another move. In response, he kissed her deeply then pulled away to unbutton the front of her dress, his lips brushing against her skin as he revealed it inch by inch until he finished the meticulous task, pulled away, then parted the scarlet fabric.

She still wore her cruel smile as he lean back over her, this time as he went down her body, taking as much of her in his mouth that he could. Still, with every kiss, with every touch, with the feeling of her fingers running through his hair as she moaned, something was terribly wrong.

The water was starting to turn cold.

Kazuya turned off the water then stepped out of the shower. He stopped in front of the mirror then slicked his hair out of his eyes. He then firmly planted his palms against the white marble counter, and he leaned in to stare at his face, particularly the scar etched there. His eyes narrowed.

"You couldn't possibly think that she would forgive you, do you?" His eyes widened and his shoulders tensed when he heard that voice. In the mirror's reflection, the Asian woman stood very prim and proper. Though no shawl was on her shoulders that day, she was in a white and blue floral printed sundress, white headband pulling her perfectly in-place hair out of her face. Again, she shook her head at him, disappointed, like she had in Anna's car. However, the look on her face melted from discontent to a smile. A cool, malevolent grin not at all different from Anna's.

"Who are you?" he demanded, whipping around to face her. 

There was no one behind him.

Kazuya's eyes remained bewildered as he stared at where the woman should had been. His breathing had become swallow with fright, and he stood rigidly until it had returned to normal. Before long, the only noise he could hear was the ringing in his ears and the buzz of the fluorescent lights. With a heavy sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut then glanced back over at the mirror; as he expected she was standing behind him in reflection, still smiling. He straightened up and turned to fully face the mirror.

"I think you should worry about figuring out who _you_ are before asking me questions," she replied sweetly. 

He was silent.

She began stepping towards him slowly, "Then again, that was something you never had a grasp on, was it?" Her arms wrapped around his bare waist, and she rested her chin on his shoulder; he tensed up. "That's okay."

"Even if she doesn't forgive you, I have," the woman added softly, pecking him on the cheek.

"Who are you?" he repeated in a steady voice. She kissed him again, pulled away, then let out an amused chuckle before vanishing when he blinked. 

It was then he noticed that his eyes were glowing red, and he stared at his reflection fascinated. The sight was familiar, something that he knew that he should had been alarmed about. However, the comfort he felt when he gazed at himself proved itself to be much more satisfying. Casually, he closed his eyes then reopened them; his irises were normal.

Kazuya smiled to himself then went to the linen closet to get a towel.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he could hear the faint sounds of a car driving up the gravel road from outside. He frowned to himself and went over to the bed to dress. However, he peeked out of the window first; a black sedan was parked in the driveway now. Kazuya's frown deepened when the driver's side door opened, and a middle aged man stepped out wearing a black tailored suit and trenchcoat. His hair was entirely grey, though Kazuya could tell the other man was in great physical shape from his build and the brisk, long strides he took. Kazuya shrugged and turned away from the window when he heard the doorbell.

He was still pulling the shirt that Anna had given him over his head as he headed down the hallway to the stairs; it was a dark grey long-sleeved t-shirt which was a tad too tight for him. The khaki cargos she had given him, however, fit fine in waist, though they were too long in the legs. He really couldn't complain, though. His pace slowed to a cautious creep when he heard the door open, then Anna's voice.

*****

"What a nice surprise!" Anna cried as she threw her arms around her guest: Lee Chaolan. He pulled away and smiled at her before leaning over to peck her on the lips. The younger woman coughed once pleasantly then pulled away to let Lee in. He nodded once as he entered the house.

"I can't stay long," he said quietly. "I just wanted to drop off those test results from the labs."

"You have them already?"

The smile on the younger Mishima's face softened a bit, and he reached his hand into the inside pocket of his coat. "I figure the sooner we know, the sooner we can get on with our lives, right?" He then pulled out an envelope and handed it to Anna, who daintly took the envelop from Lee's hands. She then turned and strolled over to the kitchen to get a letter opener.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, love," she called. He obeyed and sat down on the couch in the living room-turned-waiting room and rested his left ankle on his right knees then leaned back and stretched his arms along the back of the couch. His head was turned towards the kitchen, and his eyes followed Anna as she searched hastily. He smiled to himself.

It amazed him how much he loved watching her. She was still literally the same girl he fell in love with twenty years ago, barefoot, tight demin cut-off dukes, and a green tanktop. In her hair, she had a green scarf tied as a headband. He longed for the summers they spent together as teenagers, laid out on the grass beneath the New Mexican night sky and counting dreams with each star that appeared. He, however, had aged. His soft features from his youth had hardened, leaving him with a strong jaw and frownlines. Aged, weathered, though dignified and handsome, silver hair as always. He considered Anna's preservation as fate's way of punishing him for how cruel he was towards her when they were younger, which he believed it to be more than fitting. He frowned as another thought came to him. 

He was afraid of what was in that envelope.

"Oh, screw it," she said finally and came back into the living room, ripping open the envelop with her fingers. She pulled out the papers inside and began pacing as she read to herself. Lee sat up alarmed as he noticed she was standing still; her face darkened then teared up. She crumbled up the papers furiously, then pitched the wad of paper.

Lee stood up slowly, "Well?"

"This is perfect..." She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head, chuckling maliciously, though tears still ran down her cheeks. "Absolutely WONDERFUL!"

"Anna?" He stepped towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sterile, Lee," she chuckled. "Completely barren, not a single goddamned egg in me."

He gaped down at her in shock, unsure of how to reply. She started laughing again for a bit. Suddenly, she grabbed Lee's coat and snarled. 

"What the hell did you two do to me?!" she screamed.

"What do you mean?!" he cried back. "I'm not sure what you're implying--"

"--You and Kazuya! You did this to me!" She hunched over, sobbing, as she still clung to him. "You took away part of my life, and the one thing I had left..."

"I had nothing to do with that. You know that, Anna," Lee responded sternly, gripped the younger woman's shoulders. Anna was silent at response and continued to weep uncontrollably. He hugged her tightly and squeezed his eyes shut.

No matter how hard he tried living in the present, the past caught up with him. Kazuya was gone, and Lee and his father had been paying dearly for what his brother had left behind. Lee started stroking the younger girl's hair affectionately and rocked her in his arms. 

"Do you think...he did the same thing to Nina?" she asked dryly.

"I don't know...I guess...we could either track her down again and drag her down to my company's labs, or I could ask Heihachi if he still has any of Kaz's records..."

Anna sniffed once and turned her head to look towards the staircase. She pressed closer into him, and her gaze turned to icy as she eyed where she knew Kazuya to be.

*****

The sky cleared up by evening, which made for a spectacular sunset. Fiery wisps of clouds against the bold, deep violet of the sky that was slowly fading into black, and the first stars were winking into view over the horizon. Kazuya watched pensively from his window in the dark, his arms crosssed.

Lee had left several hours ago; however, Kazuya didn't bother to go down the stairs. He figured it was best that he left later that night, after his hostess was long asleep. He glanced over his shoulder as he heard his door creak open; a slice of sickly, yellow light from the hallway cut into the darken room.

"I'm sure you're starving," Anna said quietly, folding her hands on her abdomen. Kazuya turned to face her fully. Slowly, he uncrossed his arms. "You haven't been down all day. I was getting worried--"

"--Why are you doing this?" Kazuya sat down on the bed and rubbed his temples painfully.

"I owe you."

He looked up at her and narrowed his eyes, "You hate me." 

Anna smiled a little at that response, glanced down at her feet, then back at the older man. She chuckled a bit before turning to leave.

"If you're hungry, there's food on the kitchen counter," she repeated, her back to Kazuya, before latching the door shut behind her.

He folded his arms, rested them on his knees, and stared forward, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again.

"You're doing the right thing."

He looked over at the Asian woman then rolled his eyes. She sat down on the bed next to him, again neatly resting her hands over her skirted knees and smiled fondly at him. "Oh, don't be cross with me. I've only been trying to help."

"Fuck off."

With a small giggle, she draped an arm around him and patted him once on the shoulder, "I know. You were always fond of her. But you'll get over it."

He pulled away and glared at the woman, "That's not it. She meant something to me. I know it--" He stopped and grabbed the sides of his head. "--And I'm talking to a fucking hallucination."

"Hardly." The woman pulled away and straighted back up, then folded her hands over her knees. "Intuition, guilt, perception. I'm all of those." She glanced over at him, "That's all very real, Kazuya."

He was silent and kept his head hung down. Outside, the sky darkened to complete blackness. However, the single streetlight outside flickered slowly and cast its rosy light into the room. He knew then he only had a few more hours before he had to leave again. He wanted to talk to Anna again to at least thank her. With a heavy sigh, he uncrossed his arms then stood up. The woman blinked.

"You're only going to make things worse," she warned. Again, he rolled his eyes and chose to completely ignore her. 

She frowned and vanished.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

The only light on downstairs was the kitchen light, and Kazuya made his way down the stairs, jacket in hand. He paused when he reached the bottom stair then looked over towards the kitchen where Anna was sweeping and singing softly to herself. 

He was silent and listened; the tune was a Brahms lullaby. It was at that moment, he felt something jar the back of his mind when realized what it was she was singing. He blinked and saw her sitting on a bed in a white nightgown and with child, again singing, this time down at her swollen belly. She looked up and smiled at him, a discreet smile.

"Yes?" she said. 

He blinked again then shook his head when he realized that she had stopped sweeping and had addressed him. 

It took Kazuya a moment to find his voice, and only after an awkward pause and Anna arching a brow at him in impatience, he finally said, "Thank you."

"You're leaving?" 

"Isn't that what you want?" 

Anna didn't answer but looked down at her feet. Her silence made him smile; he wasn't expecting a reply.

He repeated himself, "Thank you, Anna."

Again, silence. His smile saddened a bit, and he finished going down the stairs then trotted over to the door. His hand grasped the knob to the front door, yet he hesistated. Suddenly, he wanted to go back to his prison, back to the comfort of at least knowing his place even if it was in confinement, back to being on the inside looking out.

Yet, he had no longer had a place.

With a heavy sigh, he forced himself to pull open the door.

"Kazuya?" she said, finally looking up at him again; he looked over his shoulder, frowning. When his eyes met hers, she continued softly, "Before you leave, there's something I have to ask you." He turned around and nodded. She then gestured at him to come back into the house before entering the living room herself then hurrying upstairs. His eyes followed her as he sat down slowly on the couch, and when she disappeared into the darken house, he turned his gaze forward at the opened front door.

The storm door was still closed, and the rosy light of the street light outside weakly lit up the living room along with the kitchen light. He frowned when his view was blocked by the Asian woman, who also frowned at him disapprovingly, again something he was not surprised by.

She crossed her arms, "You're not going to be able to answer her."

Kazuya looked away and ignored her.

"You have to acknowledge me," she stood in front him then glowered down at him, hands on her hips. "I made you what you are!--" He looked up and over at the staircase, as did the woman, when a door slammed shut upstairs. Defeated, the woman sat down next to Kazuya; she then let out a heavy sigh and chuckled.

"Fine, ignore me," she cooed as she wrapped an arm around him. "Just remember, though, which one of us cares about you." She hugged him before disappearing again.

Anna stepped down the stairs; in her hands, she held a leather binder stuffed full. Her pace slowed as she opened the binder and carefully thumbed through it until she found what she was looking for, then she continued steadily down and into the living room, eyes still fixated on the open book in her hands. She stopped a foot short in front of Kazuya then kneeled in front of him. Anna then rotated the book around and placed it on his lap.

The binder had been kept as a scrapbook and was full of photobook pages with newspaper clippings, magazine articles, and portions of internet printouts. Kazuya found himself scanning some of the text the best he could in the dark; for the most part, they were about medical news on cryogenics and cloning, a few business articles, and so forth. However, he didn't understand how they all related to each other or to him and Anna. 

Then he saw it.

There was a small newpaper clipping, an obituary, that was in the middle of one of the scrapbook pages. It had been laminated unlike most of the other papers, and there was a tiny black and white photo that accompanied the little blurb. 

Kazuya squinted his eyes, unable to clearly see the picture in the dim lighting, "Could you hit the lights for a sec?" Anna nodded once, rose to her feet, then casually made her way to the light switch in the living room. With a quick flick of her wrist, she clicked on the lights, then leaned against the wall and watched quietly, arms crossed.

When his eyes adjusted to the suddenly bright light, the frown on his face tightened; the corner of his mouth twitched as he stared down at the photo. 

"Do you know who that is?" Anna asked, her voice a tad sharp.

He shook his head, "I've never seen this kid before in my life." He then looked up at her, confused. "I'm not sure what you're exactly asking me, though."

She glanced away at the kitchen, then back at Kazuya, and she shook her head in disappointment.

"I really don't understand, Anna," he murmured as he glanced back down at the binder in his lap. 

Anna chuckled, "It's the same question I've asked you million times before: why _her_?"

"Her?" Kazuya looked up and and lifted a brow. 

"Yes, her," she repeated. "Jun."

At the mention of that name, Kazuya felt himself grow sick. Again, he stared down at the newpaper clipping and carefully reread everything there, then studied the photo, which was of Jin Kazama in his graduation cap and gown. Jin himself was a handsome young man with dark features much like Kazuya, black hair that hung decidedly messy in his eyes, shy dark eyes, and a slight playful smirk curled on his lips. Kazuya was disturbed by how similar he and boy looked, and though he couldn't remember exactly who Jun was, he now knew what Anna was implying. 

He continued to stare down at the photo. The longer he looked at it, the more ill he felt. The picture of the teenaged boy that grinned back seemed to mock him, a piece of his past that he never knew or was meant to know. In disgust, Kazuya slammed the binder shut, his eyes forward as he refused to look at Anna nor at the book in his lap.

Anna cleared her throat and continued, "Well?" 

"I don't know."

She chuckled once maliciously and glanced away, "Of course." In response, he stood up slowly, the binder in his hands, and then looked over at Anna. 

Kazuya shook his head once, "I was terrible to you in the past, wasn't I?" 

"Not just to me," she replied coolly as he approached her cautiously. He held the book out for her to take, his eyes carefully looking up and down her as he searched for an retort. Yet, he remained silent and waited for the younger woman to take the book from his hands. She didn't and instead kept her arms crossed as she glared at him.

Finally, he cleared his throat and replied, "Thank you, and I'm sorry." With that said, Anna uncrossed her arms and gingerly placed her hands on the book, her eyes still hurt as she continued to stare up at him. Kazuya slowly pulled his hands away, closed his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh. 

Slowly, he reopened his eyes.

"Bravo! Bravo!" the Asian woman cried, clapping her hands together. She smiled sweetly at the man gawking at her. She was clad in Anna's clothes; the binder, however, was gone. "Excellent performance!" She then leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him, still giggling from some kind of delight that Kazuya could not possibly fanthom.

She pulled away only to playfully brush her lips against his then grinned at him as she pressed up against him again, fully kissing him. Kazuya's eyes were still widened in fright when she pulled away to look into his eyes, and her smile grew. Her hands snaked from his neck down this his chest; he stiffened up under her touch.

"Stop it!" he growled as he pushed her away.

Anna was shoved back into the wall.

The back of her skull slammed back, and the impact caused her head to whip foward. The book dropped from her hands, and slowly she slid down the wall in shock, wide eyed as she stared up at Kazuya. She then blinked once before closing her eyes and slumping over to the side unconscious.

His hands started trembling as what he had done sunk in, then he kneeled carefully in front of the younger woman before timidly nudging her. When there was no response, the corner of Kazuya's mouth twitched, and he placed his hands rigidly on his lap.

He waited.

After several minutes, a strange feeling of calm washed over him, and he stood up slowly, gaze still focused on the unconscious woman before him. 

This had happened before. Some feeling, some memory that he had long forgotten yet still didn't clearly recall was reminding him of that. His forehead wrinkled up with thought as he ran his fingers through his hair. He hated the not being able to associate his own memories to each other. He hated the physical reactions he was having to things he couldn't remember. The hallucinations...

Slowly, he started backing away from Anna. Had he had these before he had woken up from surgery? The very idea that he never been stable to begin with frightened him; he clutched his teeth nervously as he turned to face the door to leave. 

He hesitated before he went out the front door, glancing over his shoulder at the woman that laid crumpled over on the floor. It came to him then; the last time he had seen her like that, she had been holding a combat knife. Absentmindedly, his hand went up to his cheek; with his index and middle fingers, he gingerly traced the scar carved there. The scene played startlingly clear in his head; she had been slumped over against the wall sized windows while in some kind of large office, papers and writing utensils scattered everywhere on the floor, the large steel desk overturned from the struggle they had had. He even recalled the evening skyline that glittered behind Anna, who had been wearing a rather revealing red satin evening gown that night; the room had been high up in a highrise office building, he recalled just from the vast amount of urban architechure the spead out from behind the defeated woman. 

He pulled his hand away from his face; this was the first time in years that something that concrete had came to him, something that made him that sick in his stomach, something that finally proved that he did exist outside of that institution. Something to prove that he did have a place in the world.

His eyes narrowed in spite as he turned back around and exited.

*****

For the most part, the evening sunlight was still bothering Hwoarang, and he squinted as he looked out towards the cemetery again through his passenger's window, anything to avoid eye contact with Julia. She, however, wasn't paying attention to him as she drove, which he knew was nothing more than another tactic to avoid talking to him. Yet, whatever it was she was looking at, he wanted desperately to look at, and he fought to keep his eyes from closing as he looked towards the reddening sky as the sun started to deepen and set. The little headstones reflected the crimson light, and it looked like an ocean of blinding light as they drove past. He couldn't keep his eyes opened anymore, and Hwoarang squeezed them shut, just for a moment.

When he reopened them, he was sitting alone, the car parked. Alarmed, the boy straightened up in his seat and looked out of the passenger window. He was still at the cemetery, to which he could see Julia walking casually towards the car from the entrance gates, her hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans. He narrowed his eyes as the driver's side door opened, and she slid it and slammed the door shut in one motion. Without saying a word, the younger girl started the car and and started to back out to leave. 

It was nearly evening, and the sun's light had softened into a gold and blanketed everything as they drove away from the cemetery. Hwoarang shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder through the back window, and he watched as the headstones and statues disappeared row by row as they were were swallowed up by the horizon. He felt himself smile when the cemetary completely receded from view, and he sighed with relief and turned back to start speaking with his companion. As he opened his mouth to say something, he saw something from the corner of his eye, and he whipped his head towards the windshield.

Instinctly, he reached over and yanked the steering wheel from her. He wasn't fast enough though, and when Julia slammed on the brakes, it caused the car to veer, skid, and spin eventually only straightening out long enough for Hwoarang to see exactly who they were going to slam into: Jin.

He stood in the middle of the road, jacket slung over his shoulders as he extended a thumb as to hitchhike. His eyes were fixated at the vehicle spinning out of control towards him, and yet Jin smiled amiably when the car finally tipped on its side, still sliding towards him as sparks and glass showered from the metal grinding on the asphalt. The impact threw Hwoarang onto Julia, who ended up being pressed up against broken glass, warped metal, and the street.

Instead of moving out of the way, however, Jin stood still and watched as the car continued towards him, brakes screeching. His grin broadened, and he placed his hands on his hips then shook his head as if laughing. Hwoarang covered his face with forearms and braced himself for another impact as the car skidded towards Jin.

Hwoarang awoke with a start then blinked twice, his breathing heavy. Disoriented, he sat up from where he had nodded off during the ride back home, then glanced over at Julia. She was humming along softly to a song that was playing the radio, which had been turned down low to keep from waking him. The older boy sighed heavily and slumped back in his seat.

She reached over with her right hand and turned down the radio completely, "You feeling better?"

"Huh?" Hwoarang blinked again and glanced over at his companion.

"You were tossing and turning in your sleep," her eyes were still on the road; it was dark now, and ocassionally, a pair of headlights would flash by them. Hwoarang straightened up in his seat again.

He frowned, "Oh, sorry. Bad dream."

"Looked like it." She glanced over at him with a relieved smile. He, however, didn't smile back and straightened up completely in his seat and looked forward again, his eyes carefully watching the road ahead, as if waiting for something to happen.

Finally he said, "You never answer my question."

"There's nothing to tell," she replied in a matter-of-factly manner. Her eyes were still fixated ahead, however.

"There's nothing to tell?" he repeated cynically. "That's why you were acting all crazy today?" Julia chuckled once in response and kept her eyes ahead, as did Hwoarang.

He continued, "And you know, all I want to do is help." He glanced over at the younger girl and smiled wearily; she remained silent. "Or am I not allowed to do that either?"

"Stop it, Hwoarang," she finally replied.

He frowned, "Stop what? Nothing's happening. You made sure of that." Again, Julia said nothing; soon, the city limits became visible, and the road was lit up by rows of rose-colored street lights lining the way into Dreyfus. Frustrated, Hwoarang threw up his arms then crossed them before slumping back in his seat again.

The rest of the car ride home was silent; Hwoarang spent most of time staring out of the window; Julia never answered his question, nor was he expecting an answer. Again, he was an outsider, someone not close enough to her to even have the truth shared. 

And he accepted it.

He followed her inside quietly, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Julia herself seemed in better spirits since she could now avoid talking to Hwoarang completely in the safety of her home, and she started conversing brightly in Navajo with her mother, who was sitting on the couch reading a fairly thick novel, as soon as they entered the room. He sat down next to Michelle and slumped back into the cushions, hands still in his pockets.

Michelle marked her spot, closed her book, then addressed Hwoarang in English, "Long day?"

He nodded weakly then glanced over at Julia as she wandered into the kitchen.

"Okay if we order pizza, Mom?" the younger woman called as she opened the fridge and stuck her head in.

"Of course. And by the way," Michelle yawned then reopened her book, "Xiaoyu called."

"Aw....and I bet she wanted to see Rang," Julia sighed as she came out of the kitchen. "I totally forgot about that." 

"Hey, Rang, pizza's okay, isn't?" she added quickly, voice still bright. He nodded his head in response and narrowed his eyes a bit at the younger girl. She turned her back to him and stretched a bit, "I think I'll run over to the boarding house and see if she wants to come over, since it's on the way to get our food."

"Take Robert with you," Michelle murmured quietly as she continued to read.

He shook his head, "Nah, I'm fine. I'll just wait here."

"Are you sure about that?" The older woman lifted her eyes at Hwoarang, and he nodded once then shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable. She then shrugged and went back to reading silently.

"Okay, then I'll be back in a bit," Julia chirped as she headed to the door; the older boy gave a mock salute to her as she went out the door. When the door latched shut, he sighed heavily with relief, then shifted again, eyes heavy. Michelle lifted her head and closed her book before turning fully to face the younger man.

She frowned, "The two of you didn't get into a fight, did you?"

"Heh, no," he chuckled bitterly. "She doesn't talk to me enough for us to fight." Michelle shook her head sadly at that response; she set her book down next to her then placed her hands in her lap.

"You know," she began softly, "I think it's just...Jules has a hard time opening up to people now. Losing Jin was really hard on her--"

"--I know, and I respect that." Hwoarang reopened his eyes and straightened up in his seat to better eye the older woman. "It was hard on me too. But, you know, I don't appreciate her making me feel like it's my fucking fault he's dead. No one had any idea what was going to happen, except for maybe _him_."

"I know," Michelle looked down at her hands. "...I really shouldn't be trying to make excuses for her."

He shook his head once solemnly, "She's your daughter. You're supposed to do that." Michelle blinked, taken back by that comment, then let out a soft laugh. Hwoarang found himself also cracking a small grin then chuckled a bit. 

His grin grew, "It was meant to be a comforting statement."

"That it was," the older woman smiled.

"Michelle?"

"Yes?"

Hwoarang sat upright; the smile on his face deepened into a frown, "So, did she ever tell what happened that night? I mean...other than the shooting."

The older woman's smile melted into morbid surprise. Her mouth dropped open from shock at the boy's question.

After a few moments of searching for something to say, Michelle managed to stutter in a whisper, "Is...is that what's been going on between you two?"

"She told you then. About whatever it is that really happened to Jin," he replied calmly, relaxing a bit and leaning back in his seat. "I take it, you won't tell me either."

"It's not that, Robert."

He laughed a bit, "Look, I realize I'm not family, but--"

"--You _are_ family. I don't want you thinking anything else," she said firmly, finally finding her voice. "It's just..."

"It's just what?" Hwoarang crossed his arms and lifted a brow as he waited for an answer. However, Michelle found herself looking down at her hands again. Her hands curled up into fists; she then flexed her fingers nervously. But as Hwoarang expected, she didn't answer.

He chuckled softly and shook his head, "Just forget that I asked." The younger man then stood up and stretched, preparing to sit awhile back in Julia's room. Michelle kept her head down; her hands were trembling, and again she flexed her fingers, this time popping them. 

"Robert, sit back down," she said calmly, eyes still fixated on her shaking hands.

He frowned, "Michelle?"

"Just sit."

He obeyed quietly and sat slowly back into his seat. The older woman looked up; her mouth was drawn down in a tight frown, and her eyes were watery. Her hands finally contracted firmly into fists, as to keep them from trembling. 

She kept her voice and gaze study, "There are some things in this world that can only be witnessed, not explained." Hwoarang swallowed hard and nodded once, keeping eye contact and afraid to blink.

"You know those cliffs outside of town?" she began again, voice still steady.

Hwoarang nodded once stiffly, "Yeah...I think the Mishimas own those lands, right?" 

She nodded, "About thirty years ago, a boy was dropped off the highest cliff there. I'm not sure of the entire story, since I only heard it second-hand from a friend, but I do know...that boy survived."

"You're kidding me," the younger man lifted a brow and leaned back in his seat, astounded.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Michelle began wringing her hands together. "When my friend told me about his brother surviving that, I almost didn't believe it, not until I saw the scars." 

She frowned again, "By all rights, that boy should had died. His injuries were just..." 

"Okay, so you have this insanely lucky kid that survives a drop the size of a small highrise onto solid rock..." Hwoarang crossed his arms, "What does that have to do with Jin?" 

Michelle smiled wearily, "I'm getting there." She flexed her fingers again then balled them back into fists; she then placed them on her lap. "My friend thinks that his brother really died that day."

That statement took the younger man by a bit of surprise, and he blinked once before clearing his throat nervously. The conversation had already been unnerving enough for him, and the sudden cryptic notion of death bothered him even more. He glanced away at the window, actually praying that Julia would be home soon, though he knew better. With a heavy sigh, he turned back and looked Michelle in the eye. The older woman's face was tired and solemn. He shuttered as he realized that she meant every word at she had said just moments before.

"You seem afraid of death," she said.

"It's not that," he replied quietly, his words almost lost completely in his throat. "I guess it's from when Master Baek told me about his father."

"Yes?"

Hwoarang looked down at his own hands, eyes watering, "He killed him." He chuckled a bit cynically before looking up at the older woman again, "This man, the greatest, kindest man I've ever known murdered his own father. I just...I can't imagine killing another person, especially my own blood. Even when I was part of that gang... Then Baek died so suddenly..." He blinked off the oncoming tears. 

He hadn't really cried since he was a little boy. Between the beatings from his father and his parents' violent arguements, he found that it was better to numb himself to the entire situation. Pretend he was somewhere else or someone else.

"Emotional death," Jin had said in a rather matter-of-fact manner to other boy while shrugging, "It happened to me after my mom died. I just stopped giving a fuck. I still don't give a flying fuck."

"Are all you Mishimas like that?" Hwoarang had asked in reply.

Jin's face hardened, "Yes, but only because assholes like _you_ ostracize us."

It was that statement that made Hwoarang completely want to turn around his life. Bettering himself, somehow pulling himself out of the void he had made. He didn't want to be dead, yet when he finally let himself feel again, it just seemed like the blows hit him harder than ever before. The people he loved were leaving him or ignoring him.

"Robert?" Michelle asked softly, "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not." He looked glanced away at the windows once more then shook his head. "I've never been okay."

"That's not true."

He laughed a bit and turned back, "Whatever. And...what you said before about that guy dying, I guess, it made me think of something Jin said to me a few years ago. But, heh...yeah, sorry, didn't mean to change the subject."

"It's okay," she smiled. "If you want, I can put on some tea then we can finish talking ."

A small, relaxed grin started to crack on his lips, "I'd love that." He then stood up and stretched, "I think I'm going to wash my face, too. Okay?" She nodded and rose to her feet as well before strolling to the kitchen.

The icy water felt refreshingly painful against his skin, and Hwoarang cupped his hand underneath the running water again then splashed the pool of water up to his face. After doing this a few more times, he finally stopped the water and pulled off the towel that had been hanging around his neck to dry his face and bare chest. 

As he patted his face dry, he stared at himself in the mirror. There were bags underneath his eyes from the lack of sleep from the past couple of days, and he could even see a few grey hairs in his overgrown spikes. He groaned and rolled his eyes at the discovery, yet bitterly mused that Julia had caused it all and decided on redying his hair red later.

Despite the distractions, he was reluctant to go back into the living room. He could, however, already faintly smell mint from the kitchen mingling in with the perfumey soap aroma in the bathroom, and he slung his towel back around his neck before shutting off the lights and exitting.

He shuffled slowly back to Julia's room to get a clean shirt, feeling somewhat better. However, he still had a heavy weight on his shoulders. He flipped on the light to her room, entered, then headed over to his duffle bag in the corner. Taking his time, Hwoarang dug through until he found a short sleeve plaid flannel shirt and threw it on, not bothering to button it yet. He then straightened up and headed towards the door.

As always, he stopped at the mirror.

This time, though, he studied each picture carefully, as if trying to find some kind of key to what Julia had said. He found himself idling wondering exactly what was he supposed to believe in as he looked over each picture of Jin and himself. Hwoarang chuckled maliciously as he noted that Jin seemed to have so much more presence than he in every photo. He loved the irony; Jin had always been obsessed with death, a subtly morbid, sick fuck who yet was more vibrant because of his fascination with mortality. 

And now here that sick fuck was, immortalized in a pink and lacey shrine in some girl's bedroom.

Hwoarang's grin grew, and he glanced down at the a the top of the dresser. Something caught his eye, however, and he blinked and looked back down. He frowned.

He had never bothered to notice what Julia kept on there. Of course, at the surface, it looked like any other young girl's dresser, covered in trinkets and neat little baskets. At one side, a mirrored tray sat, covered with bottles of perfume, yet he spied a prescription medication bottle. He gingerly picked it up.

It was still half full, and the issue date was well over a year old. His frown deepened as he read label. Valium. He figured that she must had had problems sleeping after the murder, and he shrugged it off. Carefully, he set the bottle back down. 

Amist the bottles and baskets was an old cigar box. He recognized it, mostly since Julia had carried it around like it was a bible when they were teenagers. A dog-eared corner of some kind of paper stuck out from it, which he had never seen the box like that; it had always been kept closed neatly. 

The smell of mint was getting stronger, and Hwoarang clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue as he stared down at the little cardboard box. It was so tempting to open it, yet he felt like he was violating part of what was left of his friendship with Julia already. He glanced over at the door and stretched, getting ready to leave. Yet, he looked back at the box and cringed.

"Aw, fuck me," he mumbled as he picked it up and flipped over the lid.

He blinked and picked up the photo that was lying in there. 

It was of Jin no less, but the photo had been carved into with some kind of utensil, and the emulsion had been scratched away in some places. The photo, he recalled, had used to be on the mirror. It was the one of him shirtless, yet now horns had been scratched on to his forehead and wings protruded from his back. There were a few little drawings around him of archaic symbols and some writing, which he couldn't translate. Jin's face was also scribbled out and where his eyes would had been, the paper had been punctured completely through.

Hwoarang bit his bottom lip then gently set the photo on the dresser. There was one other item in the box, which he also recognized. It was the gold chain that Julia always wore with the weird Aztec coin charm and the ring that Jin had given her on it. 

It dawned on him suddenly that he hadn't seen Julia wear it since the funeral.

He snapped the box shut then quickly and quietly placed it back on the dresser. He then carefully plucked up the photo and shoved it into his back pocket, then he hastily left the room, shutting off the lights behind him.

As he emerged from the hallway, he was still buttoning up his shirt and walking briskly towards the breakfast room. Michelle had already helped herself to a cup of tea and was drinking silently. When she heard Hwoarang enter the room, she smiled fondly and gestured for him to sit. He obeyed quickly.

"I was getting worried," she chuckled.

He grinned a bit and inhaled in the scent of tea, "Sorry, I had to get beautified." The older woman's smile broadened at that comment. Carefully, she poured the boy a cup of still steaming tea then just as cautiously set down the hot kettle. She then picked up her own cup.

Hwoarang continued as he took a sip of tea, "So, you were going to tell me about this boyfriend you travelled around with? The one that lived in Chicago?" 

Michelle looked up in shock midway between taking a drink, nearly dropping her tea. Nervously, she set her cup down, keeping her eyes on the younger man, "I...I never told you about Lee."


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

"Lee?" Hwoarang asked as he took a sip of his tea. He felt better now, since the topic had seemingly changed, though Michelle was silent now. The older woman stared down at her own cup, half in thought, half mortified. She sighed heavily and looked up at him, and managed to relax when she saw that he was smiling at her fondly as he waited patiently for an answer.

Finally, she murmured, "Like you said, he was my boyfriend... We travelled around alot, especially after his brother died. Well we did anyway, until I met Danny."

"Jules' dad, right?"

Michelle nodded and let out another heavy sigh before taking a drink of her tea. Carefully, she set her cup back down on the table and looked back up at younger man. Hwoarang leaned back in his seat and gestured for her to continue.

"I guess...I would of had to tell you about him anyway. His brother was the boy that fell down those cliffs. But, Robert I have to ask," she frowned folded her hands on top of one of another after placing them on the tabletop, "How did you know about that?"

He frowned a bit, "I'm not sure how." The younger man then drank a bit more of his tea. "If it's something you'd rather not speak about, I understand." Michelle let out an uneasy chuckle at his vague explanation.

"I see," she murmured as she thoughtfully rested her hand on her cheek, though still ill-eased. "I suppose I should ask you one more thing before even attempting to go on..."

"And that would be...?"

"Do you believe in God?"

Hwoarang rolled his eyes and threw his arms up in disgust, "What is with everyone and asking that? No, I don't fucking believe in God! I never have and I never--"

"--Okay, okay," Michelle chuckled as she straightened up in her seat. "I obviously hit a nerve."

"No, it's just..." the younger man slumped back in his seat and buried his face in his palms. Michelle leaned back in her seat and waited silently, again her hands resting on the table. It was a moment before he slowly pulled his hands from his face, revealing the aggravated yet horrified expression on his face. He then closed his eyes and let out a shakey sigh before reopening them and making eye contact with Michelle again.

He took another deep breath then continued, "It's just that Jules asked me the same thing today at the cemetery. And well--" He stopped to feel in his back pocket for the photo; his fingertips ran across the rough surface of the scratched emulsion before he pulled his hand out again, leaving the photo where he had safely tucked it.

"Robert?"

"Why does she hate me so much?" he asked to himself.

Michelle shook her head sadly and looked down at her hands, "I'd tell you everything I know, but it's so much of it is not my place." Hwoarang bowed his head; his shoulders hunched as he laughed at her comment.

It meant to him that he was to stop asking questions.

The front door finally opened, and he lifted his head slowly; Julia and Xiaoyu entered together, giggling and gossiping.

. . .

Lee sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel room, his head hung down as he rubbed his the back of his neck painfully. The top few buttons of his oxford shirt were undone and the ends untucked. On the floor next to his bare feet, a bottle of scotch sat half empty. Sitting next to him on the bed was a laptop. He moaned once and looked up at the computer that was flipped on next to him, picked it and the alcohol up, then slid back on the bed to start working again.

Upon leaving Anna's that afternoon, Lee had had spent most of the day trying to figure out exactly how he could help her. However, he had little success. As soon as he had returned to his room, Lee had called his father's home and office, only to learn that the elderly man had went on an emergency business trip. The details had been sketchy, of course, which Lee hadn't expected to get anything out of Heihachi's receptionist at all anyway. But, he was still somewhat hurt that he couldn't speak to his father of all people; Lee and Heihachi had gained an understanding of each other over the past twenty years, and they had put aside their differences to at least respect each other.

He took a swig from the bottle and started typing again.

The laptop had been hooked up to the hotel's internet connection, and Lee worked quietly and patiently. During his youth at his father's company, he found he had a talent for two things: heavy drinking and hacking. Lee rarely use the latter, though he still was quite the drinker; that was mostly consolation for the other things he had given up over the years, namely the abundant drug use. But, he still drank and smoked to his heart's content. Dimly, he knew it was simply because of how empty his life was now that he indulged so much in those habits. However, as long as he could keep forgetting about the rut he was in, he was fine.

Lee frowned and closed out of another airline website. All day, he had been searching through secured databases, looking for recent passengers and ticket purchases. He yawned once and pulled up another airline site then started working again, steadily overriding and bypassing each password prompt. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he knew he would know it when he came across it.

. . .

It was raining again, and Forest Law ran outside of the hall where he had just finished classes that afternoon. He tugged a black tabagan over his head and pulled off his black horn-rimmed classes as he made it to his little beat up red hatchback, most of which the paint job was gone and replaced with rust. When he got in his slammed his door, but it didn't catch. So, he slammed it shut again, this time much harder. It closed this time, and the young man smiled to himself before starting the car.

He ended up getting caught in traffic, but didn't mind, and he listened to the radio and sang along to himself, drumming on the steering wheel as he waited for traffic to inch forward. Despite being stuck at the moment, he was enjoying his freedom. That, he savored every chance he got since he had started studying abroad a couple years, and he had found this year that he loved Australia. The atmosphere was different from America; the people were more openminded and friendly, and everything was familiar enough to where he still fit in. Forest had even acquired a bit of an accent, to which both Julia and Paul had teased him about the last few times he had called them, though he honestly couldn't hear the change in his voice.

Finally, traffic moved.

When he made it home, the first thing Forest did when he stepped through his tiny apartment door was pull the soaking wet hat and black t-shirt he was wearing, revealing the huge, intricate tattoo of a coiled black dragon on his back that he had gotten last year, and went over to his phone to check messages. He frowned when he saw he actually had quite a few and sat down on his small couch to listen.

_"Forest, this is your father... I know you're probably in class now, but this was the only time I could call. I just wanted to tell you happy birthday and that--"_

"--Next!" the young man scoffed as he pressed the message button on his answering machine.

_"Okay...1,2,3! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!. . ."_ He smiled as he listened the voices of a few of his classmates singing together off-key, and he laughed at the insane birthday wishes they gave him.

When he got to the last message, he was grinning fully, and waited for the speaking to start. However, he frowned as he heard silence. After well over a minute, it clicked off. Forest's frown twisted as he bite the inside of his cheek, and he decided that it was probably a wrong number called from a mobile phone that didn't quite hang up. Yet, he checked the caller ID box and cycled through the calls from that week, and he found that the call came from a local payphone. He shivered and tried to think nothing of it. He then picked up the phone, dialed out, and waited as the other side rang.

"Yello?" a sleepy male voice yawned.

"Hey, it's Law," Forest chuckled into the phone. "I'm hoping this is Derrick."

"Oh, hell yeah!" the other young man laughed, perking up. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten your birthday. I was thinking we could go out to the pubs tonight for starters."

"Sounds fair enough to me," the American replied pleasantly. "I've got a couple of things I have to take care of before we leave, but shouldn't take me long. Oh, and is Grant there at all?"

"Yeah...you two still work together, huh?" Derrick's voice dropped a little from disappointment. "You know, get out while you can, Law. He's neck deep in shit."

"Don't worry, this is my last job," he replied quietly. "This bookie shit is too fucking stressful."

"Glad to hear you finally figure that out," the other young man sighed, though there was a hint of doubt in his voice. "Anyway, let me go get Grant." Forest could hear Derrick bellowing in the background, footsteps, and a click as the phone was picked up.

"Yeah?" another male voice asked into phone, this time it was tired, stoned sounding voice.

"Hey, yeah, this is Law. Just wanted to know if we got in all the bets for the boxing match tonight."

Grant coughed a bit, "Yeah. You won't believe who put in a bet in late today."

"Who?"

"Tracy Freedman."

Forest blinked, "Isn't he...like some big American business tycoon? Works for...Mishima, I think."

"Yeah, and he's supposedly part of a mafia ring. I personally didn't believe all that bullshit until he gave me the money he was putting up..."

"How much?"

"Fifteen million, American."

"Holy fuck..." the other man gasped as he shot up from his seat in shock. "I mean, I know this is fucking middle weight world championship, but my god!"

"Yeah, and you'd THINK he was going for Fox," Grant chuckled.

Forest frowned and sat back down slowly, "You're telling me that someone bet $15 million on Ewin Lewis instead of Steve Fox?" He then rolled his eyes and reached over and picked up the pack of cigarettes and the lighter that had been sitting next to the phone. "Either he's an idiot or...the fight's going to be fixed. Christ..." He then popped a smoke in his mouth and lit up.

"You're telling me," Grant laughed. "If Freedman wins, there's no way our unit is going to be able to pay him thirty mil. It's pretty fucked up."

"Eh, we'll worry about that when the match starts later," Forest replied as he pulled his cig from his mouth and glanced over the clock on the kitchen; smoke escaped his nostrils. "You coming out with Derrick and me tonight?"

"I'm going to try, but I have a few things require my 'immediate' attention, if you know what I mean."

"So, I shouldn't hold my breath, in other words."

"I wouldn't say that," Grant chuckled. "Just give me call on my cell phone whenever later on, and I'll catch up with you guys."

"Alright, tell Derrick I'll meet him in an hour at you guys' place, and later."

"Ciao!" With that, Forest hung up and went to change.

. . .

The ringing of the phone was what finally woke Anna up, and she groaned and slowly sat up from where she had passed out. She brought a hand up to the back of her head, which was still throbbing with pain. She looked around.

It was daylight, and her front door was open, save the storm door. Carefully, the redhead propped herself against the wall and rose to her feet, her hand still to the back of her head. She then staggered over to the phone.

For a few moments, she rested over the desk where the phone sat and listened to it ring, partically hoping that the call notes would pick up, which it did, and the ringing stopped. She sighed with relief and sat down behind the desk. Still rubbing the tender back of her head, she pulled open a drawer in the desk and began fishing around, looking for painkillers.

The phone rang again. Anna's frown deepened as she continued to ignore the phone until she found the bottle of asprin that she had stowed there. With bothered huff, she picked the phone with her freehand.

"Hello?"she mumbled as she craddled the phone between her shoulder and ear; with both her hands free, she feebly attempted to twist off the top of the bottle.

"Anya, darling!" a raspy, yet lilting Irish voice cried conscendingly. "I've been trying to reach you all day!"

Anna finally popped off the lid, "Nina?" Carefully, the redhead tilted the bottle towards her palm and tapped it twice; four pills spilt out into her hand. "My god, where are you?" She opened her mouth, popped the pills in, and swallowed.

"I can't talk long, I have a possible 'commission' in the works. I just wanted call to check up on you--"

"--Nina, I really need a favor of you."

Nina chuckled, "Now, really?" There was an awkward pause at that moment, to which Anna knew Nina was smiling to herself.

Of course, they hadn't spoken to each other in two years. Though Nina and Anna had never exactly gotten along well even as children, the chasm between them had deepened with Nina's sudden reinterest in working as a hitman. That was something Anna never quite understood, her sister's infatuation with reliving a life that had brought nothing but misery to their parents and to themselves. The very reason that Anna blamed her current situation on.

Had Nina only not taken that job twenty years ago, had Nina not made the same mistakes their father had made, had Nina not decided to pursue the matter further, Anna was certain that she would had a normal life, possibly with marriage and children. Her thoughts lingered on the thought of having children as she waited for her older sister to reply, and after she carefully set the bottle she was holding down onto the desk, the younger woman absentmindedly placed a hand over her stomach.

"What is it?" Nina finally asked, again her voice was amused.

Anna cleared her throat a bit, "I recieved some a bit of disturbing news about my health yesterday. Nina, I...I can't have children."

There was a bit a silence before the older woman replied, "I see." The glee that had been in her voice was gone now, replaced with something Anna couldn't quite recognized. It almost sounded like remorse, but she decided that knowing her sister, it couldn't had been.

Nina continued, "I know my memory isn't as good as it used to be, but...for some reason I recall you being pregnant a long time ago. Maybe before we woke up?..." Her voice trailed. "Maybe I'm thinking of someone else." A hint of frustration was leaking into her voice. "Maybe it was someone else...? God, I hate when this happens. I can see this so clearly, except for the faces... They're all so fuzzy..."

"No, no, you're right, Nina," the younger woman sighed. "Kazuya and I were expecting at one point. I don't suspect that you remember Chicago very well at all. I'm actually surprised you recalled that."

"Well, I just don't understand. What happened?"

"Apparently, someone took the liberty of extracting all my ovum during some point of our sleep."

A heavy sigh sounded from the other end of the line, "You're being rather nonchalant about the whole ordeal, Anna."

"Well, the problem is, if that happened to me, I'm wondering..."

"I see. I don't see why it matters now," Nina murmured. "Neither one of us have a chance for a normal life now. And when we left Mishima five years ago, Heihachi made us sign those papers--"

"--I'm not looking to press the matter legally. I just want answers. Nothing more. And...if Kazuya did the same thing to you..."

"Let it go, Anna. It's in the past." The frustration in Nina's voice had grown, and there was a sharp edge to her voice now. "That's something neither you nor I will ever gain back."

Anna was silent at Nina's retort, knowing that most of the anger came not from irritation over Anna's health, but over Nina's inability to fully grasp anything from before waking up.

Waking up. Anna still had nightmares about her last memories of Kazuya, the black three-piece suit he wore, the cut she had carved across is face in a fit of rage, and finally the unearthly red glow of his eyes. The frightening look in his eyes when he stared straight into Anna's eyes. Frightening, yet strangely admirable. She had been pinned up against a wall of his office; there was a prick of a needle going into her neck as he held her there, despite how much she struggled. Her eyes grew heavy, and the world blurred and darkened. Only then did Kazuya let go, and when she tried to pull herself away from the wall to stand, the younger woman staggered and fell towards him. With all her might, she tried to fight off unconsciousness and failed as she finally slumped over onto the ground, unable to move.

The last thing she heard was, "I'm sorry."

But the images, his eyes, the transformation she had witnessed. Those plagued her until she woke up.

She shot up from where she had been lying, trembling from both cold and finally breaking the endless dream that she had had. For a moment, she leaned over heaving to catch her breath before covering her face to cry. That, she had been waiting to do, though the reason why, she couldn't quite remember. It was then she noticed that she was nude, and she looked around. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting.

Anna recognized the room; it was very a high-tech cryogenic storage unit in one of the Mishima research facilities just outside of Chicago in a rural, isolated area. Kazuya had casually mentioned to her that he planned to completely shut down the cryogenics projects Heihachi had started. Financially, it was draining resources, and the technology for reanimation didn't exist.

The room itself was had several glass tube-shaped tanks large enough to fit a well sized adult in each of them, all lined up side by side in the middle of the room like rows of coffins, and several computers were hooked up to each one of the tubes for montioring purposes which lined the back wall of the room. Anna recalled being disturbed from the sight of the room, which was immaculately sterile like a hospital but devoid of any kind of life. Just glass and the machinery, mixed with the strangely beautiful, organic fixtures of rubber tubing and wires that protruded from the tanks and computers like dead vines. It was the the first and only time that he had let her see any of the biotech labs at Mishima.

And she thought little of it then.

With a heavy sigh, Anna looked down then frowned. As she expected, she was sitting up in an opened cryo-cell, one of the very items Kazuya had wanted to have dismantled. Carefully, she stepped out, fumbling a bit from the height of the glorified test tube from the ground and from the darkness. Her knees buckled from lack of use, and the redhead fell to the ground. However, she managed to save herself injury from bracing her arms out of front of her and breaking her fall. She glance up only to see another figure sitting up in another cell. As she stood up, leaning against her discarded prison as a brace, she blinked as she realized who it was.

"Nina?" she whispered at the nude blonde, who like Anna, was shivering from cold. However, the other woman didn't respond to her name.

"Nina," she repeated, this time raising her voice.

Again, no reponse.

"Nina!" Anna looked over towards the doors as she heard a flurry of footsteps hurrying towards them and muffled voices. With an annoyed sigh, she straightened up and and crept over towards the door. She looked down.

There was no handle or knob, just a heavy, mechanized lock with a keypad and a blinking, red LED, which she quickly deduced could only be disarmed from the outside. There was a small window in the heavily armed door, however the glass was tinted and smoked; little light from outside could get it and what did was a faint blue, making it useless to see through. What light that lit the room almost came entirely from a third cryo-cell that remained unopened; Anna could see a third woman lying motionless in the tube; however she didn't recognize the woman at all.

The sounds of footsteps grew louder and louder until finally stopping in front of the door. Anna moved to the side and took a defensive stance as a precaution. From outside the door, there were a few beeping noise then one louder beep, and a click. The LED light turned blue. Anna jumped at the sound of the click, and her breathing quickened. She crouched down, still in stance to hide a little better as the door slowly opened.

"Air leaks in two of the tanks?" a male voice mumbled. "I can't believe he called me to fix that. I don't even _work_ here anymore." Anna's stance dropped with relief; she recognized the voice as Lee's, though the soft quality she had always associated with him was gone. Instead, it was rougher, richer, and darker, a maturity that reminded her far more of Kazuya than of the younger Mishima brother.

Another voice male voice that she couldn't place replied, "Well, that was Mr. Mishima's orders. He says that he doesn't trust anyone else with this, Mr. Lee. I sure you understand?"

"Whatever, just put away your guns," Lee mumbled as he entered the room; both of his arms were raised, and he was followed by two armed soldiers in camouflage and black. One of the soldiers had an assault rifle aimed at Lee's back. "I said, put away your guns. If you want me to get this fixed as quickly as possible, you're going to have to let me use my hands, for fuck's sake."

The soldier nodded and complied.

The Mishima let out a frustrated sigh as he marched further into the room, though he finally relaxed and dropped his arms. He paused, however, and blinked confused as he noticed Nina staring blankly at him in the dark. He glanced over at the other empty cryo-cell before rushing over to the back of the room to switch on the lights. He stopped halfway, though, after the sounds of a quick struggle sounded, and he turned around slowly only to find one of his guards with sprawn out cold on the tile floor and the other staring back in the same direction as Lee with his weapon drawn.

Lee continued to hurry back into the room and hit the light switch. The mercury lights flickered on slowly then lit up the room in a near blinding, cool white light. He lifted a brow up, again perplexed at the situation. Anna stood with the fallen soldier's assault rifle cocked and aim, ready to shoot in her vulnerable state, her eyes not leaving the man in front of her, despite being awashed entirely in light now.

Lee's mouth dropped a little as he tried to search for something to say, finally mumbling, "If I were you, son, I'd drop your weapon. I can guarentee you she's a better shot and much faster than you are."

The soldier glanced over at the older man, "Mr. Lee, but--"

"--Just do it," he growled, his voice rising suddenly. The soldier glanced back over at the nude, gun-toting woman, then back at Lee before letting out a frustrated sigh and carefully setting his rifle on the ground. Slowly, he rose back up, both hands in the air.

"Thank you," she said, eyes still glued on the soldier; as she cautiously walked past him towards Lee, Anna kept her weapon aimed at the soldier as she turned and backed towards Lee.

She glanced over her shoulder at the older man. It was almost unbelievable that that was her Lee standing before her. Again, he looked so much older than she remembered, and his features had hardened a lot. His jaw was stippled in grey and dark brown stubble, which Anna had never seen Lee with even the tiniest bit of facial hair. The sleeves of his white oxford shirt were rolled up messily to his elbows, and his tie was loosened. Again Anna was puzzled; Lee usually dressed very neatly to compliment his brother's style. However, when she looked into his eyes, she felt her anxiety fade; there was no mistake about it now. He was her Lee.

"Anna," he began softly. "How did you...?" He glanced over at Nina, who was hunched over hugging herself to keep warm; she remained silent however.

The redhead smiled discreetly at him, "What do you mean 'how'? Your brother did this." Lee nodded once stiffly then gestured at the heldup soldier to leave. The younger man nodded eagerly, dropped his arms, then ran off. Anna looked back to watch him run out the door then sighed heavily with relief and relaxed. "You know where he is, right? I really need to give him a piece of my mind. And I swear, this time I'm not letting my guard down."

"Well, yes, I technically do know where he's at," he replied, scratching his cheek. "Jesus, maybe we should find you and Nina some clothes first..."

"That would be nice," the younger woman chuckled. "But--"

"--Anna, you do realize that's it's physically impossible for both you and Nina to be awake and moving, don't you?"

"How do you mean?" she asked as she turned fully to face him; her grin had grown into a full, sweet smile. That, however, only caused Lee to shake his head in disbelief.

"My god, it really is you, isn't it?" he sighed. He stepped over to her then gently placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her, concerned. The younger woman's smile quickly faded into confusion as she stared up at him; she bit her lip nervously when her eyes met his.

Lee's frown deepened, "Do you have any idea what year it is?"

"Anna, are you still there?" Nina asked. The younger Williams sister blinked and glanced over at the front door; she groaned as she noticed Lee's sedan pulling up into the driveway.

She turned back and gingerly picked up the bottle of asprin; she then idly stared at the label, "Yes, I am. I'm sorry, love."

"No, it's alright. I have to go. I'm supposed to be meeting a client today at some event."

"Well, I hope for your sake, it doesn't work out." Anna smiled to herself as she heard Nina chuckle on the other end of the line. "I mean it."

"Oh, I know you do." The younger woman looked up as she heard a soft tapping from on the glass stormdoor; Lee gave a little wave at her, and she gestured for him to come in.

Anna continued, "Well, I won't keep you. Goodbye, Nina."

"Goodbye," the older woman sang. With that, the sisters hung up.

The redhead then set the bottle she was holding down and stood up, stretching. Despite taking the painkillers, her head still ached a bit. However, she made her way over to Lee, who had made himself comfortable on the couch and waited patiently. Unlike the previous day, he was dress comfortably in a black polo shirt and pair of khaki cargo pants that almost completely covered his sandals. He was leaning back in his seat, ankle resting on knee and arms spread over the back of the couch.

She sat down next to him. However, she kept her eyes forward on the storm door. Outside, the blinding daylight started to soften as clouds moved over the morning sun; another rainstorm was on the way in the distance. And for a moment, Anna pondered what had happened to her guest last night, if he was okay, if he needed food or rest. That stopped as soon as a tinge of pain shot through the back of her head, reminding her of the previous night's events, and she cringed until she felt a hand slide slowly up her shoulder and to her neck.

At first, she tensed up as Lee massaged her shoulders, but quickly she gave in and relaxed.

"Rough night?" he asked gently as he continued to knead her stiff muscles. She nodded once, yet was silent. Not wanting to face him, she kept her gaze ahead and watched the sunlight dim and brighten. Yet her eyes closed as his touch intensified, and she let out a soft, throaty moan. Her frown tightened as his hands moved lower and dug deeper into her skin at a faster pace. Her hands balled into tight fists and stayed rigidly at her sides, though she was fighting every urge to guide his hands lower, and was even keeping her own hand from moving to between her legs.

After a few minutes, he pulled away and leaned back into his seat.

"So," he began again, "that was Nina?" Anna nodded, still refusing to look at the older man; she leaned over and rested her arms over her knees. "She didn't happen to say where she was, did she?"

"No."

He chuckled, "I see. Well, I'm pretty sure she's out of the country. I tried calling you last night to tell you, but I kept getting your voice mail."

Anna hung her head, "Sorry, I was busy..." She rubbed her temples painfully, "Anyway, any idea where she went?"

"Australia."

"Heh, how did you find that out?"

Lee grinned sheepishly, "I have my methods." He then leaned over, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey...are you alright?"

She pulled her hand from her face and glanced over at the older man then frowned when she finally made eye contact with him, only to immediately break it.

There were many things she wanted to ask Lee, mostly concerning Kazuya. However, she hadn't quite formed the questions in her head. The corner of her mouth twiched nervously as she fought off tears. Never once had she had any qualms about crying in front of him, yet now she found it near impossible to look at him, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. If there was one thing Anna had learned after waking up, it was that Lee fed off of her vulnerability; he loved being needed. And usually, she loved the attention.

But now, she was ashamed.

"Anna?" he repeated softly.

"I'm fine," she blurted, whipping her head up. And with an angry huff, she straightend up and pulled away from him.

Lee blinked and pulled back as well, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable--"

"--No, no. It's not that." She turned around and faced the older man, bottom lip quivering.

"Lee," she started again, her voice nearly cracking, "Kazuya's dead, right?"

He nodded once solemnly, "Yes. I saw the whole thing." His face darkened as a thought came to him briefly, but he shook it off. "Anna, he's really gone." The frown on his face softened, and he hugged her.

The redhead buried her face in his chest and let herself go, still not crying, but at the same time, she felt safe. Lee, however, looked forward at the stormdoor. The sky had darkened to a violent slate grey, and the sounds of crows cawing outside echo, announcing the oncoming rain. One of the dark birds flew on the porce and stood at the glass door, peering inward curiously. It tilted its head and blinked, as it seemed to gaze back at the silverhaired man staring back at it. It then cried once and spread its massive black wings to take off.

The sounds of wings beating. Lee felt himself tense up when he heard the faint noise of the murder of crows flying. And soon, the view of the dreary, dead landscape outside was darkened with a storm of black wings and feathers, all flying to find shelter before the rains came again. Lee closed his eyes and gripped tightly to Anna until the noise was gone. Only then did he open his eyes to look down at the young girl in his arms.

"He's gone," he repeated as he cradled her. "He's gone."


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

As Wenjun had said, Chancey had had Lei's badge and gun overnighted to the Dreyfus PD, along with a several files packed neatly in a huge, plastic storage tub. The detective frowned; he actually knew most of what was in the the paperwork already just from being so familiar with Jin's case and with just about anything dealing with the Mishima family. But his boss rarely left anything to chance. 

He stood by himself in storage, sifting through casually the tub, partially avoiding taking the oversized piece of tupperware out to his car and back to Paul's. Already, he was dreading this case. This was technically the third time Lei worked on this, once two years ago and once twenty years ago, when Kazuya Mishima had been killed. And the idea was always to find enough evidence that Heihachi had been the murderer or had some part in it. But, there never was any evidence. Or at least, Lei purposedly never looked for any.

He sighed heavily and picked up his holster and gun, carefully fastening the leather vest-like contraption over his black polo shirt then adjusting it until it fit right. The dectective then pulled his wallet out of pocket of his jeans and reattached his badge to it.

_"No rest for the wicked..." _he thought cynically, yet amused as he threw on his khaki blazer to cover his weapon. The door slowly creaked opened, and Lei looked up, carefully straightening his jacket.

"So, you're the dectective from New York that's been transferred here for that Kazama case?" the man standing in the doorway mused as he crossed his arms. Lei nodded once, discreetly looking over the other man. He was tall, almost sickenly skinny and lanky, with his slicked back blond hair thinning in the front. He wore a black tailored suit, which made his limbs look even thinner and stick-like. On his face, a pair of dark green tinted eyeglasses sat on the end of his nose, magnifying the man's beady, dark eyes.

Lei did his best to not to snicker and ended up smirking uncontrollably before asking, "And you are?"

"Jason," the man said as he came into the room fully, "Agent Jason Drake with the Bureau." The blond extended his hand for Lei to shake. "Heh, you're probably sick of working with us by now."

"They should just hire me on staff," Lei joked as he firmly shook the other man's hand. "Usually, I work with Bryan when it comes to anything dealing with the Mishimas, though--"

"--Agent Fury, I'm assuming is who you mean?" Drake said solemnly as his crossed his arms,

"Yeah, I wasn't sure if you knew him...but I guess you'd would if you're working on Jin's case."

The other man nodded once, "We were partners for awhile." 

"Nice guy. He even introduced me to my, ah, current girlfriend," Lei smiled. "And it's kinda funny, I think his first case ever, he ended up being stuck with me and my partner. On a Mishima investigation, of course."

"Heh, doesn't surprise me. He was pretty much our Mishima guru."

Lei frowned and lifted a brow, "Was?"

The blond sighed heavily and shook his head, "Bryan's dead. Got gunned down with few other officers during a shootout with some arms dealers in Florida last year. He...wasn't even supposed to be down there."

"Shit..." the detective gasped.

Drake shook his head, "The irony was that, Bry was under investigation himself because of that Kazama boy. Some of the evidence turned up missing come time for legal consideration--"

"--I see." Lei shook his head sadly. "So, is that why we're beating this dead horse?"

"That's about half of it. Mostly, since there's still a body, unlike what happened to that Kazuya fellow, everyone's ready to close this, once and for all."

Lei shook his head at that comment and began chuckling. He glanced away at the large tub of files, then hunched over, his chuckled turning into a full fit of laughter. Drake was silent as he watched the other man roaring, filling the otherwise quiet room. After a minute or so, the detective managed to get his laughter under control, and slowly he straightened up. He choked back a little laughter as he finally eyed Drake again.

"What's so funny?" the blond asked quietly.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Lei smirked as he looked away to place the lid back on the tub. Keeping his gaze away from the federal agent, he continued to fumble with the awkwardly large lid until it snapped shut. Lei then braced himself before leaning over to pick up the heavy tub; he straighted up quickly, arching his back for support as he carefully started towards the door past Drake.

"Detective Wulong?"

"I'm sorry, I have to get this out to my car sometime, you know?" he gasped, still strangely amused as he exited and began to waddle slowly towards the building exit, taking care to maneuver around people that came across his path.

"Heh, right," Drake called after him. "Then I guess we're done talking for today."

Lei paused and looked over his shoulder, "You're more than welcomed to follow me out. But, yeah, as far as I'm concerned, we're through." 

With that, Lei continued his slow, painful trek to the police station parking lot.

*****

Kazuya was stretched out on his back in a bed in a motel room. He glanced over at the digital clock that was sitting on the nightstand next to the bed and sighed heavily. 

The Asian woman had promptly commanded that he go to an ATM as soon as a gas station came into view. Too disheartened and exhausted to object, he obeyed. He stood and stared at the screen, wondering exactly what he was supposed to do with no card until she began slowly reciting numbers, all while gesturing for the Mishima to start punching them in on the keypad. He glanced over at her, and she nodded and repeated herself from the beginning until an account balance, his balance came up.

"Take out as much as you need," she said. He glanced over at her, brow raised and punched in a number and took his cash and receipt. After stuffing the wad of bills into his back pocket, he looked down at the small slip of paper and frowned at the obscenely high remaining balance. 

"Impossible...that can't be right..." he mumbled as he crumbled up the receipt and walked off. 

But he certainly couldn't complain now. He had a roof over his head for the moment and had had a warm meal, and he was certainly thankful for that, especially since he managed to get inside before the rain started again. He glanced over at the window; it was raining in sheets, making it impossible to see outside. However, he rather enjoyed the grey early daylight that was dimly lighting up his room at the moment, and he turned his head back to stare up at the ceiling again; he hummed quietly to himself the same song that Anna had been the other night. However, he stopped himself when he realized what he was doing and frowned. 

Admittedly, he wanted and needed sleep, yet he couldn't close his eyes. His thoughts kept going over the picture of the boy in the obituary. The frown on Kazuya's face tightened, and he turned his head; the Asian woman sat next to him on the bed, legs crossed daintly underneath the ankle length lavendar skirt she was wearing. She looked down at him and smiled fondly before stretching out on her side, lining up her face to his then resting her chin on palm. The amusement she was sporting irritated him, but again, he didn't feel like fighting her at the moment.

"Jun," he said quietly to her. She chuckled lightly and shook her head.

"I'm not Jun."

"You look like her."

Her grin broadened, "I know."

"Why then?" he asked; his frown softened into confusion when she reached over and touched his cheek then his hand.

"Familiarity. In all honesty, I could be anyone you want me to be," she replied in a rather arbitrary voice.

He sighed heavily and looked back up at the ceiling, "So, then I _am_ going insane."

She shifted to her back and stared up at the ceiling as well, "Far from it. You're just at a transition point." Kazuya didn't respond and instead listened to the sounds of the rain pounding outside on the roof and windows; the room began to dim more as the clouds blackened. The sky flashed violet silently from lightning somewhere far off. He strained his ears to listen for thunder, and heard none.

The woman was silent as well, aside from a light sigh. She then shifted onto her side again, sat up, then looked down at the fatigued man below her. She smiled again, though he gazed up at her, hurt.

She repeated in a low whisper, "I can be anyone you want me to be..." His eyes widened as her face morphed slowly, her eyes fading from brown into an unearthly blue; her hair erupted into autumn colors while she appeared in the nude, "I can be Anna, I can be your mother..." Then into another Asian woman, again, familiar, though with a frail, elegant beauty, small gentle eyes beneath the thin wisps of dark hair that surrounded her pale face. Slowly, Kazuya sat up, the corner of his mouth twitched nervously as he began to doubt his sanity again. The Asian woman touched his cheek, and he tensed up. However, he couldn't take his eyes off her out of fear and fascination. 

Her face transformed once more, this time into a male. Her features hardened somewhat, and her skin darkened, while her hair turned silver. Kazuya's frown deepened. He recognized the eyes; they were of the little boy that he saw on the highway. It was then he was finally able to look away and cast his gaze downward. However, his companion leaned into him, hand still on cheek.

"Kazuya?" The soft, airy voice that he had become accustomed to was gone, replaced with a soothing, yet again familiar baritone.

Kazuya opened his eyes and looked up confused at the other man practically stretched out on top of him. The silverhaired man continued to lean over Kazuya, his smile gone, causing the other man to lay back slowly back onto his pillow. 

It was silent then, no sounds aside from the rain and the occasional thunder in the distance. The room would flash up a brilliant blue then flicker and die away into darkness from the lightning outside. The younger man's features were defined in the brief splashes of light, the tauntness of his muscular body, the almost adolescent features of his face, his slightly parted full lips. His hands moved from Kazuya's face and slid slowly and deliberately down to his chest. The younger man then flattened out completely on top of the other man, bringing his face down to Kazuya, lips still parted lustfully; his tongue slithered out and lightly traced the older man's moist lips before gently parting them into a full kiss.

And Kazuya willingly accepted it, though all the while wondering what exactly was happening, and why everything was so real. His thoughts drifted, still of Jin and of Anna, as he closed his eyes and let his companion do as he wanted; his mouth moved mindlessly with the younger man's, and his hands snaked up and clamped down on the bare hips of the silverhaired man as his tongue rubbed lazily against the other's.

Kazuya woke up.

It was raining still that morning, though it had let up from when he had drifted off to sleep, and the small television in the room was still on though turned down low to a whisper. The sky had even lightened a bit, making the room seem almost too bright as his eyes adjusted slowly to the flood of blank light. He rubbed his eyes painfully with his middle finger and thumb before sitting up slowly then looking around. He was alone.

Kazuya felt himself relax some as he realized this, and stood up to stretch before wandering over to the window to watch the rain. He could faintly make out his reflection in the glass, most notably the soft red glow of his eyes, which he wasn't surprised by at all. He looked over his shoulder, almost expecting to see the Asian woman standing prim and proper behind him, yet there was nothing. With a chuckle, he turned back and watched the weather and the cars rolling in and out of the motel parking lot. 

*****

It was too quiet that evening, even with the faint sounds of people outside of the shower room hurrying to their seats in the arena, and the distant yelling of vendors trying to hawk merchandise and ticket scalpers dodging security. He, however, had been feeling a little sick most of that week, though he knew it was entirely mental; success was coming too fast for him.

He was taping his left wrist in preparation for the fight that night, and he glowered down at the crisscross of scars that ran down the entire length of his left arm, part of him wishing that he could at least cover his arms during the match. This was going to be televised internationally, and that made his vanity kick into high gear. It had taken him years to get over the fact that he couldn't do anything about the scars short of plastic surgery, which he refused to have, since it would mean no boxing for several months. And boxing was his life.

It invigorated him, made him feel like he was alive. He was somebody when he was in the ring. He didn't have to think about life, about who he was, about who he wasn't, and so forth. There was only his fists and his opponent. The bare essence of living, man versus man.

However, as soon as it was over, he was himself again. A boring college student that could ramble Pascal's Triangle to the 64th power no problem, and had no difficulty reciting most of _Hamlet_ from memory, though those weren't talents he often bragged about.

He stared down at his taped left hand that now matched the right, then stood up slowly from the bench he had been sitting at. Numbly, he walked over to one of the many, bland white sinks in the room, all lined up against the concrete block wall. There were mirrors hanging above each of the sinks, and he stared at his reflection.

He managed to crack a small grin. He looked nothing like his adoptive parents; both of his parents were darkhaired with round, full features. His father even had a thick mustache that hung over his lip like a limp caterpillar, and wiggled like one when he talked and smiled. The young man, however, had fairer skin, blond hair, and couldn't grow facial hair for the life of him. He turned the cold water knob on the sink and splashed his face then slicked back his hair. He looked up again at himself. His features were sharp, and the bags underneath his blue eyes told more than enough that he was letting this match get to him in all the wrong ways. He laughed to himself when that realization came to him, and shut off the water before drying his face with the towel that hung around his neck.

"Mr. Steven Fox?" a voice echoed in the room. The young man looked up then over his shoulder at the man standing behind him at the shower room when he was addressed then chuckled once, noting that the older man looked like he was straight out of a cheesy gangster movie in his black suit and dark glasses. "I have a message for you."

"Alright," Steve replied in his heavy British accent. "What is it?"

"Tonight's fight. You're to lose."

The younger man lifted a brow and slowly turned around to fully face the other man, "Come again?"

"Ewin Lewis is to take home the championship. We'll award you twice as much as you would had received from winning the belt--"

"--I could care less about money. That's not why I fight." Steve crossed his arms, though still in shock over what was being asked of him. He squinted as he tried to stare past the dark sunglasses of the man standing before him, and he leaned back and rested the small of his back on the cool surface of the sink.

The man chuckled, "Regardless, you're to lose."

"If I refuse?"

"You won't." With that said, the man in the suit turned and exited. His footsteps echoed through out the shower room, and Steve closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

Losing would mean one less thing to worry about that night. He could end the match quickly and go home. Sleep, then start training again from the bottom. It almost sounded like a perfect ending for him, since he enjoyed the road to success more than actual success itself. Though, he could hear his pride screaming with insult at the notion mingled in with the ringing in his ears. 

Man versus man. Man does not bow down. Man always fights until he wins or expires. If Lewis wanted the title, he was going to have to fight for it. Steve pulled away from the sink and slowly uncrossed his arms.

And he recited slowly, _'When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him,'_ He stepped away from the wall and began shadowboxing, _'he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no temples. Any visible expression of nature would surely be pelleted with his jeers...' _ His hands jabbed, and he danced, bouncing up and down to the rhythms of his imaginary opponent.

He dodged his phantom foe and swung with a left hook, _'Then, if there be no tangible thing to hoot he feels, perhaps, the desire to confront a personification and indulge in pleas, bowed to one knee, and with hands supplicant, saying: "Yes..." ' _

Steve's fist paused in the air, and he was silent. He listened to the sounds of the crowd outside growing louder with anticipation. Soon, he would be in the spotlight again, though the people surrounding him would mean nothing. Newscasters speaking fast and in many languages, some waiting for him to exit so that cameras could get a snap of him pre-match. And the echo of his voice that was drowning in the sea of noise.

_' "Yes, but I love myself.",'_ he said softly, ending the passage. His arm dropped slowly, his voice lost in his throat as fear set in. "Yes, but I love myself."

(passage taken from _"The Open Boat"_, by Stephen Crane.)


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

"Lookie at what I have!" Christie Monteiro sang playfully as she waved her hand in front of her companion's face. He looked up from where he had been reading the newspaper at the two tickets in the younger woman's hand, first annoyed until he actually took the time to read the tiny print on them. He lifted a brow in shock and leaned back onto the couch cushions.

She pouted, "Say something, Jaime."

"...6th row, middleweight championship, TONIGHT," he mumbled as he folded his paper and set it next to him. "Holy fuck, Chris, who did you blow to get these?" He stood up slowly, eyes still on the two pieces of paper that she fanned in front of him tauntingly, a huge grin across her face.

"Oh, and should I mention the parking pass for the reserved lot I got with these?" she added innocently, stepping back from Jaime before turning fully to run, laughing. She didn't get far, however, when her housemate grabbed her by the waist and tackled her, tickling her at the same time. They tumbled to the ground, and he continued tickle her relentlessly, though she still gripped the boxing tickets in her hand. After a few moments, he stopped, now stretched out entirely on top of Christie, a grin across his usually placid face; he was, like her, breathing heavily.

They had known each other for just over a year now; Jaime Chavez had showed up at Christie's grandfather's doorstep, with a message in an envelope from a man referred to only as "Marduk" and his passport. Her grandfather, Damian, had scanned the letter discreetly before even letting Jaime step foot into the house, and did so quickly without protest.

The Monteiro family themselves had emigrated from Brazil to Australia five years ago, after Damian had gotten out of prison, mostly to avoid anymore conflict with the parties involved with his arrest and conviction. After that, it became common for youths to be sent up to them to be placed under the elderly Monteiro's guidance if they were in legal trouble. Jaime was no exception.

Jaime himself spoke little of his past or even why he was in his current situation, though he had become quite close to Christie. He was a handsome young man with the typical non-Caucasian, exotic features: dark olive skin, black hair that hung in his eyes messily, and intense, dark eyes. His voice was American-accented, deep, and soft. However, he often slipped into another language that no one in the household understood, and he spoke little Spanish or Portuguese, though not completely ignorant of either language. Christie had often found herself wondering if Jaime was even Latino, like he implied. It was common for many of the young men that sought out her grandfather to change their names and so forth, and it wouldn't had surprised her nor bothered her in the slightest. However, she thought little of that these days. 

Christie herself was partially of African decent, with rich dark skin and eyes. Her voice was bright and lilting, a pleasant mix of a Portuguese accent and an Australian accent. She was quite proud of her heritage, however her mother had often scolded her for being too Americanized and not being rooted deeply enough in her Brazilian side. Christie often shrugged it off, though, with the blessing of her grandfather. 

"Intolerance is what got us into this to begin with," he would remind his family constantly.

Damian had passed away several months ago, and Christie volunteered to take Jaime in. Her mother had been leery about letting the young man stay any longer after the old man's death. The last person that had stayed with them before Jaime was a young man named Eduardo Gordo, who hailed from the same country the Monteiros did. And, like Jaime, Eddy had become very close to Christie; he had been the older brother she always wanted. However, he had left for the United States three years prior to Jaime's arrival, yet sent cheerful letters speaking of his travels and particularly of his settling down in New Mexico and his friends there.

The letters came often, then slowed to ocassionally, then not at all. The last letter Christie received from Eddy had been over two years ago, and he mentioned having to attend the funeral of a friend then wanting to go back to Brazil to be with his family again. This worried her. The tone of the letter was completely different from any of the letter he had sent; he had sent a somber toned letter or two in the past, however this one had been rather flat and and hastily writtened. That had been what had made Christie's mother not trust of any of the young men that stayed. She had had to watch her daughter worry over a man that everyone in the household knew she would never see again, and she would not have Christie go through that again.

"They come, and they go," the older woman had reminded Christie the night that she was to move away with Jaime.

Christie spoke little to her mother after she moved out since her mother had her prejudices against Jaime, and Christie chose not to deal with it at the time.

So, now, she and he lived alone together under strict living conditions: seperate bedrooms, seperate bathrooms, and so forth. She worked parttime during the day at one of the local diners and was going to school, while he worked two jobs as a clerk at a bookshop and bartender. And it worked well, and had been for months. 

She grinned up at the older boy hovering above her now; her breathing slowed as she finally caught her breath, and they were both silent, though smiling at each other; she gazed at the older boy through half-closed eyes. 

He took the initiative and lean down slowly, closing his eyes. His gentle, warm breath felt pleasant against the soft skin of her full lips; his hand moved and rested against her cheek as he moved in closer, until his own lips where literally half an inch away from hers. 

"Wait," she blurted as she pulled herself out from under him and sat up. "You know, we talked about this, Jaime." He pulled back as well and sat on his knees, blushing from both near arousement and embarassment.

He placed his hands on his thighs, "Sorry. I didn't mean too..." 

"No, no! It's okay!" she laughed. She grinned at him again, though that quickly turned into worry as she watched him. 

Jaime had a tendancy to become silent whenever he felt like did something terrible, no matter how trivial the situation. And then there was his nervous habit of rubbing his left arm. That day, he was shirtless since he had the day off, which showed the large tattoo he had on that particular arm. Christie had always rather liked it (though, of course, her mother had pointed out that it made Jaime look even more like a delinquent). It was black, stylish, Samoan tattoo of what he claimed was lightning, with two intertwining blades that had a erotic nature to it. Coupled with his attractive, athletic build, he had a very sensual presence about him that afternoon.

She found herself fixated on the tattoo for a moment, wondering what made him decide to get something of that nature. He was almost too shy and self-conscious, always careful about what he said or did, and usually stayed off the subject of sex, aside from the occasional joke and off-color comment. With a heavy sigh, she shook the thought from her head and stood up; she hoped that he hadn't always been like that.

"Hey," she said softly, "I mean it, it's okay." He looked up at her.

"Seriously, how did you get those tickets?" he asked, changing the subject as he continued to rub his arm. Jaime then stood up as well, though still blushing a bit. 

She perked up and flipped her dark hair, "You remember me telling you about this guy in my philosophy class, Grant?" Jaime nodded once and sat back down on the couch, keeping gaze on the younger girl as he listened attentively. "Okay, yeah, so he's a bookie, and sometimes, he gets good tickets."

"Nice, a bookie," Jaime mumbled sarcastically.

"Hey, now! Grant's good people, _and_ he makes good money!" Christie smirked. "He had gotten tickets to the Lewis-Fox fight, but he had some other engagement or something. So, I mentioned what a _huge_ Steve Fox fan you were--" She paused and waggled her eyebrows at the older boy mockingly; he closed his eyes and shook his head, laughing. Christie continued, "--And he gave them to me, no problem."

Jaime reopened his eyes and chuckled, "Wow. Talk about luck."

"No, kidding," she nodded. "He was actually planning on scalping them." She sat down next to the older boy. "We have a couple of hours before we should head to the arena, so I'm gonna go shower. But, I thought you needed some cheering up." She pinched his cheek as she stood up; he swatted her hand away playfully, and his smile turned bashful.

"God, you're so adorable when you do that," she cackled as she pinched him again before turning to head back down the hallway to her bedroom.

When Christie was about half way down the hall, Jaime called, "Hey, Chris," then stood up. She stopped, glanced over her shoulder, then turned around fully when she saw him jogging up to him. When he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her against himself suggestively; the look on his face had changed from shy to lustful, something that she had never witnessed before. And she loved it, though she could hear a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother screaming at her that it was wrong.

He grinned as he leaned his head into hers, again bring his lips dangerously close to hers, and again he was quiet and restraining himself from getting anymore intimate with the woman he was holding. She was afraid to look away or close her eyes, and absentmindedly, she brought of hand up to his cheek, again not breaking eye contact. 

She pleaded to herself in head to pull away, yet her body was perfectly happy with the attention it was receiving at the moment, and she shuddered as she felt one of his hands move from her waist and snake up her stomach beneath her tanktop to cup her breast. She closed her eyes as soon as his thumb brushed lightly over her nipple, and she let out a shaky breath. And as he fondled her, she knew she was pressing tighter and grinding hard against him to the point that she even heard a raspy groan from him and felt his arousal growing between his legs.

"You do realize," she began in a low voice; his other hand started to undo the top of her jeans, "We really can't be anything other than friends." She gasped lightly when his hand slipped between the thick denim and the cotton of her panties. 

His response was a soft "uh-huh" as his finger rubbed up against her own arousal.

"Fuck, why won't you kiss me already?"

He opened his eyes, "No." His hand kept moving as she leaned up against hallway wall. He was silent from that point on, first undoing his own jeans, pulling out his erection, then sliding downward, taking her pants and undergarments with him until she stepped out of them. For a moment, he stayed on his knees, his hands move back up to between her legs, and he leaned slowly to part the swollen lips there with his fingers, and with deliberate, painfully slow strokes, his tongue massaged her clit with the warmth and texture that no hand could ever emulate. He did this for what felt to her like an eternity before slowly standing up, hands moving back up to her waist, then he cautiously entered her. With small cry, she gripped tighter to him when he penetrated, pulling up her legs to wrap around his waist; she then hugged his neck, still gripping the tickets, and finally lost herself completely.

It ended up being a short session, but not that either one of them cared or noticed. And just as Jaime said he wouldn't, he never once kissed her during the entire time. When he did finally orgasmed, his thrusting sped up violently to end with one hard slam in which he gritted his teeth painfully, still refusing to make any noise. After pausing to allow his body to release itself, he relaxed then loosened his embrace on her to gently set her back on the ground before pulling away completely and leaning against the opposite wall; the only sound was their breathing.

It took her a few moments for her to collect herself, but she managed to murmur, "You play virgin pretty well."

"Whoever said I was a virgin?" he chuckled as he carefully retucked his spent dick back into his pants and underwear. There was a brief moment of silence; he smiled amiably at the younger girl before him, and she at him. 

"Asshole," she grinned.

"Thank you," he replied, his own shy smile growing fully into amusement.

Nothing was going to change at all.

*****

Derrick grinned as he took a swig of his beer, "Best seats in the house, if you ask me." Forest nodded in agreement as he raised his bottle and tipped it towards his companion as a good gesture. He then took a long drink before setting his drink down, and looking up at one of the many televisions hanging from the pub's ceiling. 

He was sitting with both Derrick and Grant at the bar, of course waiting for the boxing match to start and listening to pre-match hype. Grant was already stoned and had spent a great deal of the evening rambling about giving up tickets to the fight.

"I can't believe I gave them to Christina," he repeated woefully, drawing out every word as he ran his fingers through his hair; the blue dye was fading, leaving his bleach locks looking almost like a sickly green, and his dark roots had overgrown over an inch. "Gods, what I'd do to fuck her..."

Derrick cackled, "And she didn't fuck you to get those tickets?"

"Fuck no, that guy she lives with. Jesus, the American, she's like in LOVE with him. Because, you know, he's American. You know how bitches are when it comes to American blokes." He looked over at Forest, eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

"Hey, I'm American and I don't have women fawning over me," Forest protested in mock offense before taking another drink of his draft.

Grant managed to lift a brow, "Law, that's because you're a fucking queer."

"Good point." Derrick nearly choked on his drink at Grant's straightfaced retort to Forest's comment, and coughed; his nose was stinging a bit from the beer that had found its way up to his nostrils and nearly shot out. He sniffed once, covering his nose in agony before glancing back up at the television like his two coherts were already doing, though Grant's attention was questionable as he squinted, trying put his vision in focus.

"All I can say is," Forest began as he gestured for the bartender to bring him another beer, "This had better be a damned good fight. And Fox better wipe the floor with Lewis."

"Amen to that," Grant mumbled. 

Derrick frowned as he crossed his arms, "I'm afraid to ask," he said, gaze never leaving the screen.

******

None of the writing made any sense to Heihachi. The old man, dressed in his suit, about to be on his way to meet some families to reunite them with their loved ones that had been stuck at the institution that day. Yet for the third time, he read through one of the journals from the escaped patient, confused.

It didn't hold any of the panic and desperation he saw that even the young woman that went catatonic after she spoke him showed. Instead, there was calm sense of hopelessness and cynicalism. The escapee had been obviously been very well educated; his prose and voice were sharp and strong. However, as Heihachi had written in his notes, the earlier journals seemed confused, though still not completely frantic, just a lack of continuity and a definite stray in the thought process. This particular journal was the most recent one and still had a few leafs of blank paper in the back. By this time, the patient had been carefully documenting anything that was noteworthy, and writing everyday.

Heihachi had went and had several of the pages that struck him photocopied the previous evening, since he was to return the binders that afternoon. The handwriting and tone had stayed consistant, and again reminded him very much of his son during what Heihachi referred to as "his dormant days". He had several copies made of one page especially, and he reread one copy that he had folded up and kept in his pocket most of the day:

_ "18/05/xx--_

"Nothing unsual happened today, aside from the lady next door to me finally dying this morning. She's the third one I've seen go in that particular room. I don't know exactly how bad off she had been... I never got to really see her in person, obviously. I just happened to peek out my door window to see the body being carried out by the orderlies on a stretcher. It was a bit unnerving, to say the least.

"Now that I think about it, she had been quiet all last night. So, I guess that must had been when she passed.

"19/05/xx--

"Today I got to finally meet Dr. Abel, my supposed 'savior'. If there is such a thing as madmen in the world, he's certainly one of them. He wouldn't say anything to me, aside from his mumbling about his genius in whatever he had done to me and running a few tests, mostly just a physical and a few blood and urine samples. Sadly, I didn't mind. I was just glad to get the hell out of my room today.

"What gets me is that...I know Abel from somewhere. I've seen him before, but of course, I can't remember where or when. I keep telling myself that it must be from when I was recovering from my surgery, but something's wrong. I must had known him before then. 

"No, I'm sure I knew him before then. And I'm sure I didn't trust him then either.

"When I got back today, I had a headache. I had something stuck in my head, like a song or something. I actually don't think it was a song, maybe a poem I used to like. But it gives me the creeps now. I'd write it down if I could remember it though, maybe later on if it comes back to me. But, it reminded me of the Book of Revelations in the Bible. Speaking of which, I made Ms. Lynn take that book back after I finished yesterday. I may not remember much about myself, but I do know that I never believed in God."

Dr. Thomas Abel, a name that Heihachi thought he would never have to hear again. Abel used to be a researcher at Mishima, and had worked along side with several other world renowned scientists, most notably Dr. Viktor Bostonovitch. Most of the work Abel and Bostonovitch worked on together were on life preservation and tissue regeneration, funded quite supportively by Heihachi, mostly as a last gesture to his late wife and out of sympathy towards Bostonovitch, whose daugther was slowly degenerating from the same illness that had taken the life of Heihachi's wife. 

However, a falling out happened between the two researchers. Abel had found a possible way to restore tissue, however it used organs from long deceased humans, and brought in the possibility of complete reanimation of the dead, though Abel claimed there was no possible way to do such with the tools and knowledge they had now. Yet, the minute possibility was enough to test both Heihachi and Bostonovitch's morals of both playing God and use of human subjects.

"I can give you what you want!" Abel cried angrily as he stormed into Heihachi's office nearly thirty years ago. "And you...you take me off of this project, _my_ project?! What is this?!" He glared over his glasses over at the younger man that sat placidly behind his desk; Heihachi folded his hands quietly, keeping steady eye contact with the infuriated man before him.

Abel was silent as he recomposed himself and wiped the sweat off his brow as he straightened up and fixed his blazer collar. He then cleared his throat.

"What I found could save thousands, maybe millions of lives," he added, trying his best to keep his voice calm, though still very angry.

Heihachi shook his head, "I don't doubt the humanitarian intentions behind your work, but..." 

"But what?! This is how science works! This is why technology exists! This is how logic is implicated!"

"And some knowledge, Man was not meant to obtain." Heihachi bowed his head, "I'm sorry, Thomas. I really am. It's just...I think I let wanting to redeem myself for a dead woman cloud my judgement." He looked back up, "Please, don't take this personally."

The doctor laughed cynically, "You tell me to throw away my life's work, and I'm not supposed to take it personally?" Abel turned his back to Heihachi, still laughing madly. "Fine, the project is finished. And I'm gone. I quit."

"Thomas--"

"--Good day, Mr. Mishima." With that, Abel marched out of Heihachi's office, never to be heard from again.

And certainly, from everything that had been found in Nebraska, it looked like Abel had been trying to recreate what he had done decades ago, though with little success. However, so much information was missing. So many records had disappeared, and Abel was still nowhere to be found.

And among the missing files were the records of the escaped patient and of the catatonic woman.

Heihachi glanced at his watch and sighed heavily before standing up from where he had been seated at the desk in his hotel room. This was going to be the fifth family he had requested to meet today, and he was dreading it.

Carefully, he folded the sheet of paper he had been reading and slipped it into the inside pocket of his navy blue blazer. He then gathered up the binders sitting on the desk and headed toward his door. He stopped only to grab his fedora off the back of the door with his free hand and tugged it onto his head.

Before he exited, he glanced over his shoulder over at his desk, praying that some answer would come to him, even just a tiny bit of insight to the jumble of information he had. The old man then sighed heavily, turned back to the door, and left.

*****

Steve paced back and forth, glancing up at the clock in the hallway he was waiting in with his trainer, an elderly black man named Alec Smart; they were just outside of the arena now, and the sounds of the crowds already chanting both Steve's and Lewis's name were overwhelming the young man. However, there was still half an hour before the two boxers were to make their entrances to the ring. Steve wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, though, and he felt more ill than he had waiting in the shower room.

He stopped pacing when he felt his robe thrown over his shoulders.

"Steve," Smart, began quietly, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "No matter how this turns out, I'm still proud of you. And so are your parents." Steve turned around to face the elderly man, his face taunt from trying to keep from breaking down. That however didn't last long, and the young man hugged his mentor, his shoulders hunching over as he finally let himself go and wept softly.

The old man was silent and patted the boy, like a father to a son, and let him cry.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

It seemed impossible that the crowd could get anymore revved up, however as soon as the announcer's voice bellowed throughout the arena, the cheering swelled up to nearly deafening.

_". . .And in the blue corner, hailing from the United Kingdom, Britain's favorite son, Steve 'Iron Fist' Fox!"_

The crowd roared as Steve's name was called, and heavy hip-hop music blasted from every speaker as he and his entourage made their way down the ramps from the outside halls and through the crowd towards the ring. Steve still had the hood of his sequined red and blue robe over his head, which hid his eyes, and he scanned the crowd carefully as he approached his post; his opponent had already entered the ring and was waiting. 

Near the back, where Lewis had entered, Steve noticed the man that had confronted him in the shower room standing with another man dressed similiar to him. The young boxer quickly averted his eyes and glanced in the opposite direction; as he excepted, another suit was standing in the back with his arms crossed. However, standing next to him was a blonde woman in a black catsuit covered by a calf-length black leather jacket , and on her face, she wore dark glasses. She had her arms crossed, and was watching Steve closely; she turned and said something the man she was standing next to, who nodded in respose. Steve shuddered and looked foward again, then pulled down his hood before tugging down the sides of the ring to enter.

The lights were too bright, and everything blurred; Steven squinted as he tried to make out his opponent's face. Around him, the noise dampened under the ringing in his ears. When his robe was lifted off his shoulders by Smart, Steve looked over his shoulder at the elderly man, his face blank. And though he couldn't make out the words of the older man, the young boxer nodded as his trainer guestured and continued speaking. 

Finally, Steve heard, "Let's do this!" and felt a pat on his back, and instinctly he shot up from where he was sitting his corner; His opponent, Lewis, hopped up as well, fisting the air furiously as he and Steve both approached the center ring where the referee was waiting.

From the crowd, Christie and Jaime stood together. Jaime wasn't as excitable as most of the people surrounding him, and he was only standing to see better and cranking his neck as he tried hopelessly to look over the heads of two tall men standing in front of he and Christie; his female companion, however, didn't seem to be as bothered from the obstruction, and she even cheered and clapped as soon as Steve had taken off his hood.

She grinned, turned, and nudged Jaime, "Hey, Steve's kinda cute!" 

"What? I can't hear you," he replied, raising his voice a bit, honestly not able to make out Christie's comment over the noise. 

"Nevermind!" She turned her attention back to the ring, where the two fighters were getting ready to shake. Jaime, on the other hand, threw up his arms in frustration and plopped down into his seat. He then pulled off his hooded sweat jacket and flung it over the back of his seat before turning around and crossing his arms, not at all amused.

He sighed with relief when the two men in front of him sat down after the first bell rang.

*****

Lee awoke to find himself still spread out on the couch with Anna curled up peacefully on top of him. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, then lifted his head slightly to look at his watch. He then softly nudged Anna; she moaned softly then shifted, snuggling closer to him and still not getting up. Lee felt a small grin creep across his lips; she wasn't asleep.

"Anna," he said softly, "I have to go, it's getting late." The older man then carefully pulled himself out from under her, forcing Anna to have to sit up as well. She rubbed her eyes after she sat back on her legs, then stared up at Lee as he stood up and stretched with his back to her. 

It was still morning, and she frowned as her eyes adjusted to the dim light streaming in from the storm door. Outside, it still rained softly, and the sky had brightened from a dark grey to a blank white from sun hidden by the storm clouds. For a moment, she allowed herself to take in the scene, and found herself recalling spending rainy afternoons stowed away with Lee when they were teenagers. Those were some of the memories she charished most. Even after he had broken off their relationship, somehow she managed to forgive him. She cursed herself for her blind adoration, for her sentimentalism, for perhaps her loneliness. 

He didn't even have to ask. All it took was for him to crack one smile, one slight knowing smile, and she forgave him. Much like she forgave his brother.

Anna stood up as well, yawning and stretching a bit before crossing her arms.

They were both silent, taking care not to look at each other.

She spoke first, "When do you fly back to Chicago?"

"Wednesday." The redhead's frown deepened with that, and she looked towards the older man.

"That's tomorrow." Slowly, she sat back down, "...Today was nice."

He looked over his shoulder, "Huh?"

"It felt like old times."

"Oh." Lee turned around completely to face the younger woman, "I guess it did." He managed an uneasy smile; the far-off look on Anna's face alarmed him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," she looked away at the open storm door at the rain pattering softly outside. "I know you've told me not to dwell on the past, but I don't think I loved him."

Lee sat down, "Loved who?"

"Your brother." Anna sighed heavily and leaned back in her seat, resting her hands on her abdomen. "I know I felt something for him. Gratitude, perhaps."

The older man frowned, "Well, he _was_ your knight in shining armor. I know that doesn't necessarily mean you loved him, but I know at least he was crazy about you."

"I always found that odd...," Her voice trailed, and she closed her eyes. For a moment, the redhead was silent and listened to the sounds of the rain tapping on the glass of the windows and door. "Well, not odd. I guess, doubtful."

Lee shook his head, "I'm not sure what you mean."

"He never loved me, Lee." She reopened her eyes, only to see him staring at her in mild disbelief. "Maybe he felt an obligation to me, maybe he was fond of me, but he didn't _love_ me."

"Anna..."

"Actually, I'm wondering if he possibly hated me."

The silverhaired man shook his head, "You saw what he was going through. Kaz had no control over his actions most of the time. You know...during that time when you two were seperated, he went through this terrible depression. I mean...I can't really explain why, but it was one of the last times I know he was entirely himself."

Lee sighed heavily and continued, "He was genuinely happy with you. I hadn't seen him that way since we were kids." He glanced over at the storm door then back at the younger woman; he then smiled weakly at her before lightly patting her thigh as a sign of reassurance.

"You're so strange," Anna murmured as she closed her eyes when his hand rested on her leg. However, as he tried pulled his hand away from her leg, she gently grabbed his hand and placed it back on her bare thigh then opened her eyes.

"Lee, you don't have to keep acting like you're my father," she said.

He stared down at the dainty hand over his, unsure how to respond. Slowly, she slid her hand off his, and she shifted and leaned back further, gracefully laying her legs over his lap and crossing them as she stretched out; his hand remained on her leg. 

She smiled slowly and waited.

*****

The fight seemed to be going slowly; Steve easily out-maneuvered Lewis, swaying in and out of every punch, but not really retaliating. Occasionally, the blond boxer would swing back, again outperforming the other boxer, however each punch that connected came out of reluctance. And it was quite evident to the crowd.

There were moments of booing when the young boxer wouldn't fight back, which was difficult for Steve to tune out. However, he eventually did, and danced rhythmically, putting up his fists to block when he couldn't back away fast enough. Around him, the world blurred out, and his only focus was on the other young man in front of him. The sounds around him faded away, he continued to dodge and duck, his mind cleared aside from the very mechanical orders his brain spouted out. 

Yet, lingering dimly in Steve's thoughts, was the notion that he couldn't keep this up. It was just going to have to be long enough. Though, how long, he didn't know. 

A left hook swung out of nowhere, and Steve flinched and pulled back, suddenly snapping out of the groove he had kept up. Instinctly, his left fist revved back, sped towards Lewis's jaw, and connected. And without missing a beat, Steve's defensive strategy switched to offensive; he came at the other man with a barrage of swift yet solid punches. Lewis covered his face with his gloves and ducked unsuccessfully as Steve continued to let out on him relentlessly with precise, timely hits. 

His focus suddenly became locked on downing Lewis for the first knock-out of the match. The blond then backed off to save his energy, though he was far from tired out. He sensed that his opponent, however, had worn himself out a bit with the misses from earlier and the defense he was using in vain. Faintly, he could hear the sounds of the spectators cheering, their voices starting out far away then growing and growing to near deafening, feeding his ambition. 

Steve hopped back, his arms up to protect his chest; and he bobbed up and down as he waited. As soon as Lewis dropped his guard, the blond boxer nailed him again in the jaw with a clean uppercut and sent the other man flying backward onto the ground. The crowd went into a frenzy as Lewis hit the ground and was still. A referee scurried out then slid down next to the fallen boxer, beating the ground with his palm as he shouted out each number, his voice lost in the sudden rise of chanting and hollering; Lewis finally stirred and stood up, struggling a bit.

"Seven!" the ref yelled as he stood up, and he signaled to sound the bell before bowing out of the ring. Steve relaxed and dropped his guard then scanned the crowd again, his eyes fixated for a moment on Jaime, who was still seated and wasn't cheering. When his eyes locked with the other man, Jaime frowned and stood up slowly, gaze still on the blond. 

*****

Lei quietly shifted through his files that morning; both he and Paul were up, though Paul had been set on watching the boxing championship, and did so quietly as not to bother Lei. The detective pulled out another manilla folder and flipped through it, not sure what he supposed to be looking for, though he was quite familiar with most of the notes; he had taken a good deal of them, and the rest by Bryan. Lei frowned, knowing that he was eventually going to have to read everything, and for a split second, he regretted not taking up Wenjun's offer.

However, as soon as he heard Paul yell with delight from the other room, he chuckled and smiled to himself before returning to his work. 

A moment later, the door opened and the blond poked his head in, "Hey, sorry, I hope that didn't bother you."

Lei looked up and smiled, "Not at all. I'm not really doing anything, just sorting things." He then looked back down at the piles of papers in front of him then sighed heavily. "I'm thinking I'll probably be joining you out there in a few."

"Getting frustrated?"

"I don't even know where to start," the detective admitted sheepishly as he looked back up at the biker. "And I'm reluctant to call this new guy I'm supposed to be working with. He's just not...Bryan, you know?"

Paul leaned in the door away, crossed his arms, then nodded sympathetically, "Yeah, I've been kinda the same way with hiring new mechanics. I'd gotten so used to Hwoarang and all, and there's not many professionals 'round here with his know-how and talent. Jesus, I miss that little shit sometimes. He's a damned good kid." Lei cackled, turned back, and glanced over at his tub, remembering exactly how Hwoarang had ended up under Paul's care four years ago.

"It's amazing how probation can change a person," the detective smirked.

Paul smiled, "Maybe. I think he would had came around, whether he was convicted or not. I don't say this about a lot of those little punks that Baek took in, but Rang has a good head on his shoulders. Just needed some guidance." 

"I guess. I don't usually hear people talk so fondly about conartists though."

"I know," the blond shrugged, "but I try to give people the benefit of a doubt."

Lei's smile softened, "Yeah, I know. That's one of things I really like about you." Paul felt his grin grow at that remark, though not entirely sure why he was particularly happy to hear that coming from Lei of all people. He then frowned when he heard the commentators for the match chattering idiotically again; with a heavy sigh, he glanced over his shoulder towards the television playing down the hall then back at the detective. 

"Hey, wait up," Lei said as he closed the top to the tub. He then stood up and stretched. Paul moved to the side as he was joined by the other man at the door, and the two of them headed down the hall way together to the living room.

*****

". . .Well, you still could of called," Xiaoyu pouted; she then playfully nudged Hwoarang, who turned his head towards the younger girl and chuckled. Xiaoyu Ling was a tomboyish yet pretty girl, her black hair pulled back into two pigtails. She was still dressed from softball practice from the previous evening in an oversized white t-shirt, and black shorts. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up past her shoulders, and she was tanned from being out in the sun all that summer; her running shoes and socks were off, and she pointed her toes then wiggled them, though for a moment wishing she had at least painted her toenails. She then chuckled a bit when she compared her feet in size to Hwoarang's.

Like Xiaoyu, Hwoarang sat on the floor in the living room, his back resting the front of the couch. He was barefoot as well and still dressed in his clothes from the day before, though his shirt was unbuttoned and the top of his jeans were undone. They were watching the fight on a small, portable television; Michelle had left for work a few hours earlier, and Julia had offered to go get breakfast and had only just left.

"Sorry, Babydoll. You're right, I should had called," he chuckled softly, nudging the younger girl back before shifting onto his stomach, resting his head down on his folded arms, and closing his eyes for a moment. He glanced then over at the front door and the window; it was clouding up outside, and the sunlight would disappeared periodically, darkening the room a bit. With a heavy sigh, he reclosed his eyes, half asleep.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said, her voice dropping. "Really, I wish you would had stopped by the boarding house or called or _something_, though. There's something that's been bothering me for awhile..." 

He frowned, eyes still closed, "Couldn't talk to Jules?"

She was silent for a moment, but finally, she took a deep breath and looked down at the older boy, "So...I guess it was about a month ago, I got this really weird email... No return address, couldn't track the IP or anything." 

Hwoarang opened his eyes, "Happens alot with spambots and shit--"

"--It wasn't spam. The message attached... Whoever sent it knew me. Like really knew me." She sniffed once then looked back at the television; her face stormed over as a thought came to her. 

"Ling?"

"I'm sorry," she said replied quietly, turning her attention back to the older boy. Again, she was silent for a moment before continuing, "You know, Jin considered you his best friend."

"That's news to me," Hwoarang mumbled. He shifted a bit, laying on his side. The older boy then rested his chin in his palm and peered up at the girl. His brows furrowed, and his frown deepened as he waited, irritated that he wasn't going to escape talking about Jin with the younger girl.

Xiaoyu smiled down at him, "No, really. He told me that, I guess...it was sometime after you two had stopped talking for whatever it was you guys were bickering about."

"And that has to do with...?" he gestured cynically with his free hand for the younger girl to continue.

"Did you two ever start talking again?"

"Nope," Hwoarang replied, shrugging a bit. "The last thing he ever said to me was 'fuck you'. And that was good three or four months before--" He stopped himself from finishing and sighed heavily, almost wanting to laugh. 

He flattened out on his back, gazing up at the ceiling, and repeated himself with a smirk, "Yeah, 'Fuck you,' he said. I wanted to punch his goddamned teeth in." Xiaoyu remained silent, nervously wringing her hands together as she waited for the older boy to continue. He didn't, however, and just continued to stare up, his mind suddenly fixated on the photo in his backpocket again. 

She looked away and finally replied with a disappointed, "Oh."

"'Oh' what?" he chuckled glancing over at the younger girl.

"Then it wasn't you."

"Wasn't me what--Wait, that email?" He frowned, "What did it say?"

"Don't worry about it."

Hwoarang sat up slowly, "Jesus, Ling, you know you can just tell me. I get enough of this cryptic shit from Julia--" He cut himself off then sighed heavily; his expression melted into hurt.

Xiaoyu looked towards the tiny television screen; the second round had started, and Steve was clearly dominating Lewis now. 

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked quietly, gaze still fixated on the screen with mock interest. 

"Yeah, I'm good at that." Hwoarang grinned wearily at the younger girl, despite that she refused to look over at him; Xiaoyu continued to wring her hands as she watched the ongoing bout. Outside, the sky darkened, and the last bit of morning sun was lost behind rain clouds that swept in from the east, and over the tinny whine of the little t.v., soft taps of rain on the window panes drummed. 

She listened as the sound of the television was drowned out by the sudden downpour outside; Hwoarang found himself idly wondering if Julia was alright, and he looked over at the door as he waited for Xiaoyu to continue.

Finally, she began, "I...well, that email, it kinda alluded to that summer. I thought maybe Jin had said something to you about it, but...I guess not."

"What's the big deal?"

"The night before Jin went to Mexico, we...um..." Xiaoyu glanced over at Hwoarang, blushing from shame; her nails were digging into her lap and stretched the cotton of her shirt.

Hwoarang blinked and sat up slowly, "Ling, tell me you didn't." Xiaoyu nodded meekly and cringed as the older boy threw his hands up in disgust. "You fucked him, didn't you?"

"Well, that's not exactly how I was going to say that, but...uh, yeah, we slept together."

"Nice," Hwoarang mumbled. "Not that I can really hold that against you, but, holy shit. You and him, it's just--" He paused, and his frown deepened, "You do know he was probably using you, right?"

Xiaoyu nodded once, keeping her head down, "Yeah, I kinda got that vibe from him. I don't know exactly what was going between him and Julia, but he was upset about that." She smiled to herself, "I guess...I liked the attention. I hadn't ever had a boy pay that kind of attention to me. Even if he really wasn't thinking about me." She only looked up when she felt a hand on her shoulder, then when she looked into Hwoarang's eyes, she quickly averted her gaze downward to her hands again. The older boy then wrapped an arm around her and hugged her, patting her on the shoulder once. Xiaoyu rested her head on his chest, her shoulders hunching up as she started weeping quietly.

"There's no reason why you should be ashamed," he replied softly as he continued to cradle the younger girl. 

"But I...I...wanted it to happened. I had for the longest. But then when he left, I felt--"

"--Terrible. Believe me, I know how that feels." 

She looked up at Hwoarang and sniffed, "...Yeah."

The front door opened, and Hwoarang lifted his head. Julia stepped in holding a fast food bag; she was drenched just from the short jog from her car to the front door, however she managed to cover their food in her jean jacket and saved the paper sack from ripping. The older girl blinked, confused, as Xiaoyu pulled away from Hwoarang and cleared her throat. 

Still facing forward, Julia reached behind her and closed the door, "So, did I miss anything from the fight? The radio konked out as soon as it started raining." She frowned and joined her guests on the floor. 

"Eh, Fox knocked out Lewis for seven counts, and it's pretty much been Fox's match now," Hwoarang replied as he straightened up and leaned back against the couch; Julia nodded, her head down as she dug through the bag. She then handed Hwoarang and Xiaoyu a sweet roll each.

"I rather like Steve Fox," she commented as she pulled out a roll from the bag for herself. "He kinda reminds me of Jin."

Xiaoyu glanced over at Julia, "How weird. Why is that?" She took a bite out of her breakfast.

"I don't know," Julia smiled wearily. "It was just all those interviews before the match. He has Jin's demeanor. And the same intense look in his eyes."

"Yeah, except instead of being an asshole Japanese guy that hates everyone, he's a pasty white boy that boxes," Hwoarang mumbled half under his breath. "I'm really seeing the similarities."

Julia narrowed her eyes, "I'm going to tell you this again: you're an asshole."

"Thanks." He bit out of his roll, "Oh, and before you say anything else, yes I know. That's something Jin would had said."

"I wasn't even going to say anything," she hissed; Xiaoyu blinked and was silent as the exchange went on.

He chuckled, "Sure, of course not. You never talk anymore anyways." 

"...Xiao, do you want something to drink?" Julia asked, ignoring Hwoarang's comment.

"Um, sure," the younger girl squeaked. Julia jumped up and stormed into the kitchen; Hwoarang glared over at where Julia had exited. From the kitchen, the sounds of cabinet doors being slammed and ice being thrown into glass clanked over the noise of the television. Xiaoyu looked over her shoulder then back at the older boy.

"So, that's what happened between the three of you, huh?" she said thoughfully.

"What?" Hwoarang lifted a brow. Xiaoyu shook her head ruefully and took another bite of her food.

*****

Round five, and Lewis held on desperately as Steve danced around him, poking with careful jabs. The blond showed no signs of slowing down. The three men and the woman were forgotten, and his thoughts stayed entirely on his opponent. He just needed one more knock-out to win by a TKO. However, he was stretching out this match as long as he could. Steve hit Lewis with another right jab then jumped back, bobbing up and down with his fists close to him as he waited for a retaliation. 

Just a couple more punches could end it all, yet Steve hesitated. It would all be over, and he would be just plain old Steve Fox again, waiting on a plane to fly home and sleep. He would watch the footage of the fight and wouldn't believe that was him on television, then go and read a book. He would go back to being his boring self, then the cycle would start all over again in a few months. Training, fighting through the circuits, the possibility of not making it as far as he did this season. Steve pulled back as Lewis swung clumsily at him and missed. However, instead of fighting back right away, he went back to dodging and weaving to wear Lewis out more before deciding to make his final move. However, his mind went blank as he tried to think.

_"The boy's useless now. We proved that we could isolate that gene and correct the defects like he asked, but what now?"_

"Adoption."

"Heh, Steven's almost five now, and that arm is a mess. Who'll want him?"

"Who cares? We won't have to waste any more funding on this one."

He suddenly realized that the blonde woman was staring straight at him. Lewis hit Steve with a hard right in the jaw. The blond boxer staggered back, realizing that he had let his guard down. Quickly, he shook off the shock and recomposed himself before the other man could get anymore hits in.

_"Concentrate!"_ he screamed at himself in his head as he went back to blocking and ducking.

Everything went silent, and he moved out of the way of each incoming attack. He wanted the bell to ring for the round to be over, though he wasn't worn yet. However, his concentration was waning.

Lewis' rhythm slowed tremendously from fatigue, and he dropped his guard just for a moment. But a moment was too long. Steve's mind snapped back into focus, allowing him to quickly exploit the small opening that Lewis had left. The blond pulled back his right arm.

The last punch felt so concised, so timed, and so otherworldly that the blond could almost see himself slamming his fist into Lewis's jaw and his reaction of disbelief as the other boxer fell for one last time. His arm dropped to his side, and Steve relaxed.

His surroundings faded back; the sounds of fans cheering and booing filled his ears. 

"Now what?" he mumbled to himself as he looked out into the crowd.

The three men and the woman were gone.

*****

Forest stood outside the pub on a payphone, Grant by his side arms crossed as he waited for Forest's call to go through.

The American shook his head, "Fuck, Dean's lines are tied up too. This isn't good."

Grant frowned, "Try Lex's cel phone. Someone from our unit has to be taking calls." He grabbed the sides of his head and squatted. "Christ, this can't be happening. This is the most important event of the year, and everything's a mess. I knew I shouldn't had--"

"--Shut up, Grant. I'm getting a ring tone," Forest snapped as he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder to free his hands. He then dug into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flipped it opened. "...Great, I got his voice mail." With an angry sigh, Forest hung up the phone, and his phone card popped out. He grabbed it and shoved it back into his wallet. 

"What's going on? We shouldn't be having problems. All the bets are going accordingly," Grant whined as he straightened up. After Forest pulled his tabagan off his head as he walked away from the phone and back towards the bar. Grant jogged to catch up, "Hey, aren't you worried?"

"Of course I am," the other man sighed. "But, look, we can't really act like we are around Derrick. We'll worry after the fight is over. If anything, everyone's probably making sure Freedman didn't skip town."

"...I hope you're right."

Forest stopped at the door and fixed his hair in the glass, "I hope I am too." Having said that, he pulled open the door and held it open for Grant, who walked in, semi-composed. 

"Do me a favor, Grant," Forest whispered as the other man passed him. 

Grant stopped and looked over his shoulder, "What?"

"Go finish off that dimebag or something. Just anything. Your hands are shaking." Grant looked down.

Sure enough, his hands were trembling.

*****

He wasn't sure if whether or not he was enjoying himself, however Lee's hands dutifully wandered around Anna's body as he kissed her. Reluctantly, he was able to admit to himself he had missed doing this with anyone, not just Anna in particular. However, he was also very aware that he was probably going to hate himself later on.

Yes, but she started it, he reminded himself as his hand slid down to undo the front of her dukes, then underneath them and her panties. He shuddered as he felt his own pants unfastened and pulled down; a hand curled carefully around his erection.

"Shit, I can't do this," he said as he hastily pulled away and sat up on the couch. He kept his head down as he recomposed himself; his erection went limp immediately, and he readjusted his clothes and zipped up his fly. He looked up, and his eyes met Anna's; she looked dejected, and carefully straightened up as well. 

Lee frowned, "I'm sorry, I just..."

"I know," she replied softly looking away at the door; Anna almost wanted to laugh when she realized that she had left the front door opened. However, her eyes teared up from embarrassment, and she glanced down. She looked up only when she felt Lee's hand on her shoulder, however she couldn't look at him and stared at the storm door again.

"I'll call you," he said before standing up to leave; his hand remained on her shoulder for a moment after he stood. The silverhaired man then turned and walked over to the door.

"Have a safe trip." Her gaze was still forward.

He nodded once sadly then exited.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

"Good morning, Kazuya."

Kazuya awoke to see the Asian lady standing at the foot his bed, her hands holded over one another and resting over her stomach. She had a white sweater jacket thrown over her rose sundress, and as usual her was hair in place neatly and pulled behind a white headband. He sat up slowly then glanced over at the window; it was still raining, though he realized had slept through most of the previous day. He shook his head once and frowned before turning his attention back to his companion.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, bring his legs up to his chest and resting his arms on his knees. The woman was silent for a moment, keeping her gaze steady on Kazuya; as he waited, he realized he had seen the dress she was wearing before

His mother had always worn sundresses with shawls or light jackets in the summertime, but that dress, he remembered in striking detail. The jacket and dress had been soiled with blood, though for why he couldn't quite remember until the image of the little boy scrubbing the bathroom floor flashed in his head. Absentmindly, his hand went to his chest; however, his eyes stayed on the younger woman and narrowed his eyes. It wasn't just that particular dress; his mother had worn every dress that he had seen the Asian woman in.

She smiled sweetly at him, "It's time to go."

"Now?"

"There's a bus station down the road. Your bus leaves in two hours." He was silent and continued to stare blankly at the woman before him. She gave a light, bothersome sigh then placed her hands on her hips.

She added, "You _do_ want to get home, don't you?"

He shook his head, "I'm not sure about that." Cautiously, he stood up, hugging himself. "I have a feeling that if I go 'home' or what have you, I'll regret it in the long run."

The woman chuckled softly, having expected that response from Kazuya. "All I've ever done for you is help, and you still don't trust me."

"I don't even know your name."

"My name is whatever you want it to be."

Kazuya's frown deepened, "Is that so?"

"Yes." The sweetness of her voice had a hint of malice in it; he heard it, and that was far more familiar to him than anything else he had felt from her before. Yet, he still couldn't place the tone of her voice. And for another second, Kazuya Mishima questioned his sanity.

He shook off the notion, however, and cleared his throat, "What did I call you before?"

"It doesn't matter now," she said as she approached him casually. She stopped in front of him and lightly brushed lint off his shoulders with both of her hands. It was silent aside from the noise of rain outside beating down lightly, and the woman finished grooming Kazuya then rested her hands on his shoulders. She then smiled up at him and leaned in to kiss him on the lips. However he hesistated, backing away a bit. 

Her grin broadened, and she leaned in again, this time successful as she brushed her lips against his softly then firmly pressed up against him. She then pulled away, still grinning in amusement at Kazuya, who was silent.

"So, home it is," she murmured softly before pecking him on the lips again and pulling away completely. 

*****

He was already starting to feel a buzz from drinking; it was definitely too early in the day for that, but Lee didn't care as he packed messily, cigarette dangling from his lips and a bottle of whiskey in one hand. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth to exhale before taking one more swig of his booze then setting the bottle on his hotel nightstand.

However, he still wasn't drunk enough. He was thinking too clearly and was too angry at himself for wanting to deliver Anna's test results in person. He hated how delusional he still was and how much he wanted to make up for Kazuya's actions. Or worse still, he hated what a shitty person he had grown into. Lee sat down on his bed, taking another long drag from his cig. 

His plane didn't leave until tomorrow evening, and part of him innocently pointed out that was more than enough time to go and apologize to Anna. Another part of him then retorted that he was just horny and would just go ahead and fuck her if he saw her again that soon. He then frowned and glanced over at his suitcase; everything was actually almost packed, though some of his clothes were on folded neatly on the bed courtesy of the cleaning lady. The silverhaired man's frown deepened, and he swung his legs onto the bed and stretched out, eyes heavy as more of the alcohol worked its way into his system. Lee then reached over and grabbed the bottle on his nightstand. With a hearty sigh, he chugged down what was left of his whiskey, rolled over, then set the bottle on the floor before rolling back on his back, cigarette still hanging from his mouth. Slowly, he finished up his smoke and put out the stub in the ashtray on the nightstand. 

Lee nodded off to sleep until the ring of his cell phone woke him with a start. He jumped out of bed and patted himself down until he realized that his phone was ringing from his suitcase, and the silverhaired Mishima stumbled over to his luggage and began digging through his clothes, checking pockets and throwing out anything that turned up empty onto the floor.

*****

Heihachi paced impatiently, his cell phone to his ear as it rang; he was waiting in the lobby of the institution for his next appointment. The elderly Mishima stopped moving and glanced down at his watch for what felt like had to been the millionth time. The front doors opened, and he glanced up; two orderlies entered, escorted by military police. Heihachi frowned and checked his watch again.

Finally, it picked up.

"Hello?" Lee asked, his voice almost inaudible.

Heihachi sighed heavily, "Chaolan? I've been trying to reach you all morning."

"Sorry, I had left my phone in the car," the younger man replied sheepishly. "I take it you're back from your trip?"

"Not at all...but I did get your messages. You needed something?" 

"Yeah, a favor." Lee hesistated then continued reluctantly, "You wouldn't happen to still have any records from that cryogenics project? Particularly from when Kaz was running it?"

The older man frowned, "Does this have anything to do with those Williams sisters?"

"Just one of them, and I owe her."

"Both of them agreed to that settlement--"

"--I know, I know," the younger man sighed heavily. "It isn't anything legal, and this is something that all the money in the world couldn't fix."

Heihachi gave a frustrated huff; he glanced up as the front doors opened again, this time a middled aged man walked in. The man was wearing a black blazer over his white button-down shirt and blue jeans, and on his head he wore a black cowboy hat over his long grey and white hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail. Like the orderlies, he was escorted by two soldiers. One of the soldiers pointed to Heihachi and nodded at the man in the cowboy hat. Heihachi frowned and turned away to end his conversation.

Lee started again, "Dad, I've never asked for much from you, and--"

"--I know. I won't be back in New Mexico for at least another week, but I can have access granted for you. And you know you're always welcomed to stay at the manor."

"Thank you. I really appreciate this."

Heihachi glanced over at the man, "Chaolan, I have to go. Take care." Quickly, he flipped the lid to his phone closed and tucked the phone in the inside pocket of his blazer. The elderly man then turned his attention back to the man who approached him. 

Heihachi nodded and smiled uneasily, "Mr. Daniel Blackwolf?" The man in the cowboy hat nodded once and tipped his hat at the older man. "I'm sorry, I know this was such short notice and all."

Daniel shrugged as he extended his hand, "I don't mind. Though, I'm sure this is a mistake. And I figured you'd like to keep your money." Heihachi shook it firmly then gestured for Daniel and the two soldiers to follow him, and he began to lead his guest through the halls of the institution.

*****

Kazuya felt out of place on the bus, though somewhat relieved that he wasn't the only person that wasn't sure of his destination. He was sitting next to a teenaged girl that seemed eager to strike up conversation with him. As he watched the world speed past his window, he half-listened to her ramble, picking up that the girl was a runaway. Several times, he stopped himself from asking her why she left home and instead he would politely nod as a response then urge her to continue. Despite what little he said, Kazuya rather enjoyed the background noise, the girl's high-pitched whiney voice, the sounds of other conversations buzzing around him, and sound and feel of the bus engine.

Yet he was still afraid of what he would see when he made it to the end of his trip, but at the same time there was hope. Ocassionally, he glanced down at the bus ticket stub that he clutched to and read the print that was already rubbing away from where his thumb and index finger were clamped to it. He looked over at the girl sitting next to him and smiled, nodding as she continued speaking. 

It would only be a few more hours, then he would be home.

*****

Steve didn't bother going back to the locker room; instead, he hastily went past all the reporters, declining from interviews politely and smiling shyly for photographs before marching past the press. He stopped only to sign a few autographs from stray fans that had given up any hope of seeing him leave, much to their surprise. 

It wasn't long before he was alone and wandering the empty halls of the arena, his gloves tied and slung over his shoulder. His walk slowed to a relaxed pace, and he looked around carefully, hoping to find a courtesy phone or a payphone. As he strolled past a set of restrooms, he hummed the finale to Dvorak's New World Symphony to himself then stopped when he noticed ahead of him one of the men in the black suits; the man had his back to Steve and was speaking on a cell phone. 

Quietly, the boxer slipped into the women's restroom. Luckily, there was no one in the room, and Steve stood by the door and listened. It was silent, until he heard footsteps echoing outside the restroom. His heart starting racing as the footsteps trudged past the door, pausing then going into the men's room next door. The blond sighed with relief when he heard the toilet flush then running water, and the footsteps started again; he waited until the sound faded into silence, and the boxer cautiously opened the restroom door and peeked out. 

After looking both ways, Steve stepped out of the restroom and began his search again. Without missing a beat, he started humming again, picking up where he had stopped in his song, though now he was careful of how much noise he made.

*****

Heihachi had sincerely hoped that they had been mistaken, however as he watched from afar, he sensed that he unfortunately had the right family. The elderly man leaned in the doorway and watched, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. 

For a moment, his thoughts flashed back to the paper folded inside his coat pocket, and the elderly man was troubled. They did never find a contact for the escapee or any clue as to where he had went. Any surveillance tapes had been destroyed before the government had fully finished their seizure of the institution, resulting in many of the former G-Tech employees to be incarcerated. 

He chuckled a bit as he recalled what that young soldier had suggested the other day; his son being alive was so far-fetched, though a small part of him wanted that and had so for years. However, for the most part he was relieved that Kazuya was gone. There had been little he was able to do then, and the old man feared what his son would had turned into if he had been left alone any longer. Heihachi then frowned as another thought came him; Kazuya had been thoroughly taken care of, however his problems were far from being over. The Mishima shook his head and looked forward into the room and nodded at Daniel who approached him slowly.

"Well?" the old man asked.

Daniel frowned, "She looks like her, but..." He then glanced over his shoulder at the mute woman; she was staring at the picture that Heihachi had given her. She glanced up at one of the windows then curled her legs onto the bed, making herself more comfortable before going back to the photo of Jin. Her lips curled into a slight smile as she continued to ignore the two older men. 

The younger man sighed heavily and shook his head before turning back to Heihachi, "My sister's been dead for over twenty years now. It just can't be her."

"I understand. It was just that your family was one of the few bits of info we were able to find on this young woman--" Heihachi stopped and looked over at the catatonic woman again. "Your sister didn't happen to have any children, did she?"

"Nope, not at all."

"I see..." Heihachi moved to the side as the other man pushed past him hastily out of the patient's room and marched down the hall. The elderly man frowned and watched as Daniel turned a corner, then Heihachi turned his attention back to the young woman. With a frustrated huff, he pulled the door shut; the LED light on the lock turned red, and the lock clicked shut. 

The woman never looked up.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

It had taken a couple of hours for the crowds to break and finally leave the arena deserted. Steve crept cautiously towards the front entrance; the only lights that lit his way were the emergency lights and the street lights that beckoned from outside the several sets of double glass doors lining the front of the massive building. He picked up his pace until he was nearly running to the doors.

He was homesick already. He needed to see his parents and to sleep in his own bed. The boxer stopped himself in front of a set of doors and looked outside. His heart sank a little when he saw that the parking lot was completely empty aside from a lone security car cruising along lazily. However, he reminded himself that Smart and the others probably went back to their hotel to celebrate without him. With a heavy sigh, he pushed on the door handle with both hands and stepped out.

The contrast from earlier was startling. It was peaceful that night, aside from the sounds of distant traffic. Steve stood still for a moment to soak in everything; he closed his eyes and listened, all while inhaling deeply. It felt like the first night he spent with his parents, alone in his new bedroom with the window cracked opened that night, and murmurs of cars and wind whispering to him as he tried to sleep. Only five then, he had been too excited to really rest. Someone had wanted him.

His existance had finally been validated.

Steve opened eyes and looked forward at the seemingly endless parking lot that stretched out before him. He then frowned and started walking to find a cab.

o.o.o.o.o

Oddly, all Forest could think about at the moment was that he was out of cigarettes. As he sat in his apartment with his phone to his ear, he watched Grant pace back and forth nervously. Derrick sat on the couch next to Forest and seemed disappointed; however he had insisted on joining the two bookies for the rest of the evening. Absentmindedly, the American picked up a ballpoint pen that had been lying next to the phone and put it in his mouth as if he was going to light it.

"Have you gotten _anything_, Law?" Grant asked for the seventh time. Forest shook his head and hung up his phone.

He then pulled the pen from his mouth, "Well, I still think they're just out making sure that--"

There was a heavy knock at the front door. Grant froze in place; all three men fell silent and stared wide-eyed at the door. Cautiously, Forest stood up then placed a finger to his lips as a warning. He then crept over to the door.

"Who is it?" he called as he stood by the side of the door. There was no answer; Forest turned and gestured for his guests to take cover, which both Derrick and Grant scurried and hid behind the couch. The American, however, stood at the door and listened. When he heard nothing, he sighed with relief and turned to join his friends. Suddenly, the front door burst open; Forest spun around and instinctly jerked into stance.

The two gunmen were silent, both dressed in black tailored suits and dark glasses, and each were armed with a handgun, much to Forest's dismay. He looked them over carefully; one of the men was a tall, solidly built man, obviously a weightlifter, his head clean-shaven and a goatee on his face. His partner was the complete opposite of him: short, stocky, curly dark hair that was trimmed neatly. Forest dropped his eyes to the intruders' hands and watched them carefully.

The bald man spoke first, "Where is he?"

"Who?" Forest asked cautiously; both men aimed their guns at the young man's chest. With a frustrated sigh, he relaxed and lifted his arms up in defeat and made eye contact, though still watching the weapons through the corner of his eye.

"The boxer. Steve Fox."

Behind the couch, Grant looked over at Derrick and mouthed, "What the fuck?" The other man shrugged nervously in response.

Derrick then whispered back, "Why don't you _do_ something, you jerk!" Grant blinked and violently shook his head. However, it was enough to prompt him to peek out from behind the couch and watch.

"Well?" the man in the suit replied.

Forest shook his head and spoke slowly, "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what's going on... Why would Fox be here?"

The other thug grunted and nodded at his friend; the two then cocked their guns simultaneously. That, however, gave Forest the little time he needed.

Before either of the men could reaim, the American lashed out with a front kick, knocking the gun out of the hand of the taller man. The smaller thug yelled with surprise and hastily pulled his gun up to retaliate for his friend, however Forest had anticipated the motion and swung his right hand back, slamming it into the jaw of the short man. He stumbled back and dropped his weapon; Forest dashed out of the way and dived onto the ground towards the couch, grabbing the gun before it could hit the floor and also sweeping up the bald man's gun in one elegant motion.

Quickly, he straighted up, holding a gun in each hand and aiming one at each thug.

Grant then stood up astonished as Forest walked casually towards to two men; the tall man put his hands in the air, though the other thug cradled his jaw.

Forest stepped towards the two, "I'm not sure what's going on, but I want the both of you out of my place. Now."

"Look," the tall man began cautiously, "We just need to find Steve Fox. Just tell us where he is--"

"--Were you not listening?" the younger man replied coolly. "Get out. Now." The man nodded, grabbed the short man by the shoulders, and pulled him towards the door; the stocky man stumbled after his friend, still rubbing his broken jaw. The two then trudged off; however, Forest kept his guns aimed at the door until he couldn't hear footsteps any longer. He then relaxed and strolled over to his door, setting the weapons on the table next to his phone on his way.

Grant blinked, "What the _fuck_, Law?" Derrick poked his head out over the back of the couch, then stood up as well when he saw that it was safe.

Forest ignored Grant and frowned as he grabbed the doorknob to inspect his door.

"Jesus, when did you learn all that Bruce Lee shit? Derrick, did you see that?" Grant continued, still in awe.

The American clicked the roof of his mouth then sighed, "Goddammit, those fuckers broke my lock!"

"Law!"

He glanced over his shoulder, "What?"

Derrick and Grant both just continued to stare at the other young man who waited for some kind of response. When he got none, Forest shrugged and when back to fiddling with the doorknob.

Grant blinked.

o.o.o.o.o

Julia waved to Xiaoyu from her car then watched as the younger girl scurried over to the boarding house entrance, clinging to her baseball cap as if it would save her from getting wet. Hwoarang sat silently in the front seat, arms crossed and looking forward; despite how quickly the windshield wipers were moving, it was difficult to see in the downpour. After Xiaoyu had made it inside, Julia gave a relieved sigh then put the car into gear to back out of where she had parked.

After they had been on the road for a bit, Julia asked, "So, do you want to explain what that little outburst was about?"

"What?" Hwoarang glanced over at the younger girl, then rolled his eyes as he slumped further down in his seat.

"I don't mind you smarting off at me, but you could had waited until Xiao was gone." She kept her gaze forward as she drove slowly; much to her chagrin, the afternoon traffic was fairly heavy, despite of the weather.

Hwoarang shrugged, "I'm not going to say I'm sorry, if that's what you want."

"That's fine. I just didn't want to drag her into this." He wanted to laugh at that statement, but he didn't. Instead, he straightened up in his seat and uncrossed his arms.

"Well, can I ask _you_ something?" he said, finally turning fully to face his companion.

Julia frowned, "Okay, what?"

"You hate Jin, don't you?"

"No. What kind of question is that?" she chuckled; the car inched forward still behind a long line of other cars. Everything outside of the windows was distorted, and the twisted reflections of red brake lights in the waterspots made fiery splotches on the otherwise colorless world. Beneath the humming of the old cadillac's engine and the drumming of the rain, horns honked at each other, making for an strangly hypnotic symphony.

Hwoarang closed his eyes and listened for a moment before continuing, "Did the two of you make up?" His eyes were still closed.

"In Mexico?"

"Yeah."

Julia gave another sardonic chuckle, "If fucking the night before counts, then I guess we did."

"Fucking, eh?" A grin creeped across Hwoarang's face, however he kept his eyes shut. "You sound so impassioned about your relationship at that point."

"That's what it was." The younger girl let out a heavy sigh as she slowed to a stop several cars behind a red light. "You know, he did tell me he loved me that night, but I...I really have my doubts about how much he really meant it."

"Why's that?" He opened his eyes and straightened up in his seat, and he looked over and blinked at the younger girl, who kept her eyes on the road; the light had turned green, but the line of vehicles stayed and waited to move. The honking grew louder around them, and the sound of rain was almost lost over the obnoxious shrills. Again he rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, not expecting an answer.

"Because, if he did, he would had came home like I asked."

Hwoarang blinked and turned in his seat, "And he said no."

"There was a lot more to it, but pretty much, yeah. He went there for a reason, and he wasn't planning on coming home." She frowned and continued, "I was a such a fool for believing that he'd listen. He never listened, and I could kick myself for flying down there just to stop him when I knew he'd just do what he wanted."

"Well...you thought you loved him, though," the older boy replied quietly. "Or were you having doubts?..."

Hwoarang hated himself for the small glimmer of hope that he was feeling as he waited. However, he kept a straight face as he gazed intently at Julia, who still looked forward as she drove slowly. The only sound was the rain and the windshield wipers at the moment, which clicked rhythmically as they desperately tried to clear away all the water. Again, he didn't expect a reply, but somehow he knew that he had won this time.

Finally, Julia answered, "Rang, there's only two people in the world that I would do anything for, and Jin was one of them."

"Who's the other?"

A small smile crept over her lips, however she kept quiet and drove. Hwoarang let out a chuckle and turned back in his seat to slump down again. Julia reached over and turned on the radio.

It seemed like it took hours to finally get back to Julia's, but Hwoarang noted that it hadn't even been half an hour as they pulled up into the driveway. The rain had slacked off some but still was fairly heavy, and the two scurried up the front porch. They both laughed as they raced each other, regardless of not speaking to each other during the last part of the ride home.

Instead of going inside, they stood together on the porch and watched the rain and water run off the roof. Soon, Julia sat down in front of the door, crossing her legs indian-style; Hwoarang did the same and rested his arms on his knees.

The sky brightened as the rain finally slowed to a drizzle, then to nothing at all over the hour they sat and waited in silence.

It was Hwoarang that finally spoke first, and he stated in a rather thoughful manner, "You know, sex ruins everything." Julia glaced over at the older boy then chuckled, an amiable grin on her face. He smiled back then glanced down at his hands that now were resting in his lap; he laughed softly to himself, though he wasn't exactly sure what he himself meant by the statement. Maybe it was an apology, or maybe just a pointless observation. He looked up to see that she was still smiling. With a light sigh, he stood up and dusted himself off. Julia did the same, and at last she unlocked and opened the front door.

Hwoarang watched the younger girl make her way through the house as he stood at the front door, hands shoved in his pants pockets.

"Rang, shut the door behind you," she sang from the kitchen.

He quickly obeyed then went to join her. When he reached the kitchen, he sighed heavily then leaned over the counter, resting on his elbows. Julia's back was to him as she opened cabinets then pulled out a glass.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked as she glanced over her shoulder; he shook his head in response. She shrugged and turned back to close the cabinet doors. Hwoarang straightened up then pulled away from the counter. Still not speaking, he walked into the kitchen to where the younger girl stood about ready to open the fridge. He, however, hugged her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

Julia tensed up; her arms dropped slowly, and she began trembling. Hwoarang didn't pull away, though, and he nuzzled her lightly on the neck then brushed his lips against the softness of her nape. Nervously, she turned around and faced Hwoarang. Without any hesitation, he pressed his lips firmly against hers.

The world seemed to stop then.

o.o.o.o.o

Sirens blared from everywhere, and there were police cars and ambulances surrounding the hotel. Steve watched from the window his cab, fascinated but still calm. It was difficult to tell exactly what was going on, but most of the front of the building was sealed off with police tape and barricades. Flashblubs from news crews blinked from the crowd forming at the entrance.

The blond frowned, "Let me out." The driver said something unintelligible in his native tongue and continued to circle slowly around the lot, carefully avoiding patrol cars and any officers on foot. Eventually, however, they were stopped by an officer near the entrance where an ambulance was parked with its back doors opened and waiting.

Steve felt his stomach tighten as the policeman knocked on the driverside window then gestured for the cabby to roll down his window. With a frustrated sigh, the driver did as he was told.

"What?" he asked in his thick accent.

The officer shook his head, "You'll have to turn around. No one's allowed to enter the building at the moment." Behind him, ambulance workers busted out of the front doors with a stretcher; Steve cranked his head as he tried to watch from the backseat.

The cabby frowned, "I have customer."

"Well, he's going to have to wait."

"No, no. He goes inside."

The boxer half-listened to the exchange as he squinted, trying to get a better look at the fiasco that went on outside; the stretcher was rolled past the stopped taxi. His stomach tightened more, and he felt sick; however, he instinctly opened the door and jumped out.

The policeman yelped with surprise as the blond shoved him out of the way then sprinted from the car and after the ambulance workers.

"Sir!" the officer yelled, but the boxer did not listen and continued running.

"Smart!" Steve cried as he ran up to the stretcher. The medics stopped, confused, as the boxer caught up with them and rushed over to Smart's side. The elderly man's eyes were closed and his face covered with an oxygen mask. His plaid workman's shirt was opened, and Steve could see where his mentor had been wounded several times, each wound covered in bloody gaze from makeshift bandages.

"What happened?" the blond desperately asked one of the workers.

One of the workers shook her head, "What does it look like? There was a shooting." The medics then pushed past him to the ambulance, and Steve could only watch helplessly as Smart was loaded up to be taken to the nearest hospital.

o.o.o.o.o

"You okay?"

Jaime glanced over his shoulder at his roommate then nodded once solemnly before turning back; he had been sitting alone outside on the tiny balcony that made up their back porch. And despite it being a weeknight, there were was alot of partying going on in several of the neighboring apartments. However, he seemed oblivous to that.

Christie frowned, "You should at least wear a jacket. It's cold."

"I'm fine." The younger girl sighed heavily and stepped completely outside, sliding the back door shut behind her. She then hugged herself, shivering a bit from the cool night air before she sat down in front of Jaime in an empty lawnchair. With a heavy sigh, she looked out towards where Jaime stared; buildings sticking up everywhere, people laughing and drinking below in their concrete cages, impossible to see the stars above.

Suddenly she felt homesick for Brazil; in the town where she grew up, she could see stars every night, and she missed the chirping from the insects that started with every twilight. Christie glanced over at Jaime as she wondered if he ever felt the same way.

"Hey, look," she began again, "I'm sorry about the fight."

He looked up, "Oh, no. I enjoyed myself. Thank you."

"...You sure?" Jaime nodded again then looked back out.

"Hey, Jaime?"

The older boy blinked then glanced back over at Christie, "Hm?"

She hesistated, rubbing her hands together to warm them, "...Do you ever miss your family?"

"Not at all."

"How come?"

He frowned a bit, "There's nothing to miss."

"I...I see." There was a brief, awkward silence after she said that, and after crossing her arms to keep warm, Christie stood up. She walked over to the back door and slid it open. However, she patted Jaime once on the shoulder before going in.

"Good night," she said.

"Night."

She didn't sleep well that night, constantly tossing and turning as she tried to make herself comfortable in her bed. More irritating than not being able to sleep was that she hadn't a single idea why she couldn't sleep; she was sure it wasn't guilt over what she and Jaime had done that day. It honestly hadn't felt any different from the conversations they always had. However, Christie did get a sense that something was bothering him ever since they left from the arena, and she hoped that he wasn't regretting anything.

Her bedroom door opened, and she shot up alarmed. She then relaxed as she realized that it was only Jaime, who slipped in quietly then latched the door closed behind him. They locked eyes for a moment in the dark; he then crept over to her bed, lifted the covers, and slid into bed next to the younger girl.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" she asked as she turned to face the older boy lying next to her. He nodded once and smiled slightly as he pulled the covers up to his chin. Christie couldn't help but smile at how childish Jaime looked; his hair was messy and just the shy, tight lip grin he had melted away any feelings of uncertainty she had had about his motives.

"Chris?" he asked softly; she nodded when she was addressed. "I need to ask a favor of you."

She nodded again, "Anything."

"Promise me that you won't think any less of me, no matter what I say or do."

She hesistated a bit, then replied, "I promise."

"Okay," he smiled, his voice still friendly but relieved. He then reached over and gingerly touched her face.

"You can ask me anything you want now," he said in a low whisper.

It was then she realized that she was trembling under his gentle touch, and she was silent, unsure of what she wanted to ask. Any questions she had for him had long been forgotten. He, however, seemed to expected that and leaned in, softly kissing her on the lips once then pulling away; his thumb continued to lightly stroke her cheek as he waited.

Finally, she closed her eyes and murmured, "Your name."

As she expected, he didn't answer. However, his hand remained resting on her cheek. She reopened her eyes, only to see that his smile had grown and broadened.

"Jin," he replied.

"What?"

"That's my name." He pulled his hand away and sat up; slowly, she did the same, surprised that he answered at all, and moreso at how frank he sounded. Absentmindedly, his hand when up to to his tattoo, and he rubbed it nervously, though he kept a relieved smile on his face.

Christie frowned, "How long have you been waiting to tell me that?"

"Since the day I met you."

Jaime glanced down and continued, "It's funny, really. I remember...spending a lot of time trying to figure out how to erase my existance off the planet, only to find that not only that I couldn't, but that I didn't want to." He looked back up, "I guess it's mostly because my mother told me on several occasions she wished I had never been born."

"...That's...horrible..." Christie stared wide-eyed at the older boy, mortified.

"It doesn't bother me any; besides, she's dead." He frowned and stopped kneading his arm then looked up. "She's a lot better off now. She was miserable and made everyone around her miserable. At least now, she's at peace with herself and the world."

"Well, still, to say something like that to your own kid, that's just--" She stopped herself, not sure what to say or what to think, and Jaime's, or rather, Jin's nonchalant attitude was not helping the matter one bit.

His smile disappeared, and he looked Christie in the eye steadily, "Really, it never bothered me; my mother and I had an understanding: she didn't want me as her son, and I didn't want her as my mother."

"That's an understanding?" Christie's voice raised sharply, and she lifted a brow as she crossed her arms.

"Yes, for us it was."

"In that case...I guess there's no more reason to talk about that," the younger girl replied, her words nearly lost in her throat. Hastily, she jumped out of bed then stood up. "I need something to drink." She then strolled quickly to the door, taking care not to look at the older boy.

"Chris," Jin said as he stood up as well, crossing his arms. "I care about you. You know that, don't you?"

She stopped cold after he said that, unable to respond. Guilt washed over her; she glanced down to where her hand grasped the door knob, then she looked back up at the door, still searching for some kind of response. She honestly did want to listen, however, his voice and his face bothered her. It was almost as if she was talking to someone else, not her Jaime.

That was right. He wasn't Jaime. Jaime Chavez had never existed. Christie took a deep breath and turned the knob; there was no need in getting upset about something she always knew.

She kept her back to him and mumbled, "I'm flattered." With that, she cracked the door, slipped out, then quickly latched it shut behind her.

o.o.o.o.o

They sat on either end of couch, both watching the little portable tv sitting on the floor play soap operas; clichéd stories of love at first sight and so on. Julia swung her legs to and fro, and her hands rested on her abdomen as she watched, not paying attention to what was going on yet still completely concentrating on the television set as she squinted from behind her glasses. Hwoarang yawned once and shoved his hands into his pockets, his face drawn down into a tired frown, frustrated as the picture fuzzed in and out.

And only a few hours ago, the picture had been completely clear.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

The weather reminded Lee of why he hated coming back to Dreyfus; dreadfully humid after the previous day's rain, and mud everywhere. However, he was relieved that he was to his destination, finally after taking a redeye flight, and doing what little work he could over the phone. He took a sip of his coffee.

Granted, he was tired and looked more of a mess than usual; black tailored suit, tie loosened sloppily, his grey hair mussed, and his jaw stippled with his five o'clock shadow. Luckily, though, it was still early, and few people sat in the shop aside from him. It made for a rather peaceful change from the cramped flight he had taken just a few hours ago. He figured he could rest the remainder of the day at the manor, but he needed just a bit of caffiene to make the trip to the house safely.

He was sitting in the coffee house across the street from the Louisville Bar, which he made a point not to look out the window at the wretched lot as he drank his coffee and read his newspaper. Ocassionally, the doors opened and jingled as a customer came in; and for the first time, Lee went unnoticed. He looked like the usual business man that strolled in and read his stock numbers before heading off to work, styrofoam cup in hand. In the years that he had lived in Dreyfus, that was something he had never experienced, and he rather enjoyed it. As he read his paper, a slight smile curved across his lips.

In the pit of his stomach, though, he still felt a little ill from the night before. He hadn't told Anna of his change of plans at all. However, he reminded himself that it made little difference whether she thought him to be in Illinois or not; he took another careful drink of his coffee then turned the page of his paper. Soon, he finished his coffee and paper, and with a heavy sigh, Lee quickly refolded his paper and stood up to leave. He gave a hearty yawn and stretched before strolling over to the doors.

The sky was completely clear that day, and as Lee drove past the city limits out towards his former home, he squinted from the morning sunlight that glazed over the dead scenery with its fiery light. He imagined that was what Hell looked like; burning colors, lack of life. Ocassionally, he did see a hawk or a crow on the sides of the gravel road pecking at some unidentifiable animal or circling the fields on either side of him. Soon, the first set of iron gates appeared, indicating that he had finally reached his family's estate.

It wasn't long before the Mishima reached the manor, and the car slowed as the road turned from gravel into pavement. Lee shook his head; the house hadn't changed a bit from when he had visited aside from the garden; as he drove past, he noted that gardenias had been added and were in full bloom like the poppies from being well-tended. Finally, he pulled up to the garage.

Lee got out of his rental car and pulled his suitcase from the back seat before slamming his door shut. He then dragged his luggage over to the garage door's entry key pad and flipped the lid up protecting the keys. Quickly, he punched in the entry code, and the garage door rose slowly, groaning as it lifted and rolled back. Before the door finished opening, the silverhaired man ducked underneath and pulled his bag behind him.

There was one car in the garage, an old black Civic which Lee was certain had belonged to Jin. As he trudged past it, the Mishima shook his head in pity. He had never met Jin, and never had seen what the boy looked like until after the funeral. And despite being Jin's uncle, Lee felt rather detacted whenever he heard stories about the young man. Sometimes, it did bother Lee that he didn't think much of his nephew. Most of the time, however, he shrugged it off.

Like the exterior, the inside the home was still the same, aside from the baby grand piano in the family room. The silverhaired man stopped and set his bag down, surprised; the instrument had been in storage since he was a teenager, since Lee had been the only person in the household that played any. He smiled slowly and crept over to the piano then carefully lifted the lid. For a few minutes, he tinkered around, playing starts and fits of Beethoven and Kabalevsky. Eventually, he pulled out the bench and sat down, as songs started to come back to him.

He lost himself for awhile as he played, music flowing out as if he had never stopped playing, until something jarred him. The song he was playing had been a Chopin nocturne, one that his mother had particularly been fond of. During the last few months of her life, she had often requested to be moved from her bedroom into the family room, and covered with blankets, she sat and listened, her eyes closed and a thin, sickly smile on her face.

One morning, she had been sat up as she always requested and listened, humming along softly to the music her son played for her. Softer and softer her voice became until she was weeping to herself. Lee, only twelve then, paused and looked over his shoulder, and for the first time, it hit him: his mother was dying.

All those years, he had never thought anything of her always being ill, of her state slowly degenerating. He turned back; the little boy's hands trembled as he tried to force himself to continue, yet he soon found himself bent over the keys, his arms wrapped around himself as he fought off tears.

That had been the very last time he had played any.

Lee stopped playing and hastily pushed out the bench as he stood. The silverhaired man then painfully rubbed his tembles with his thumb and forefinger; without taking another look at the piano, he turned and headed to the staircase to go upstairs.

His room had been the last one down the hall, and instinctly he walked past his brother's room and the bathroom. Lee sighed heavily and grasped the doorknob, turning carefully and pushing the door open at the same time. When he poked his head in, he chuckled softly and completely opened the door, amused but somewhat in shock.

He had fully excepted that Jin would had taken Kazuya's old room, but instead the young man's belongings were neatly arranged in Lee's room in a fashion sickingly similar to how Kazuya himself would had decorated the room; academic awards hung on the walls, along with prom and graduation photos. On top of the chest-of-drawers in the corner, several cross-country and martial arts trophies were lined up , and a white dicky indicating that Jin had been valedictorian of his class was folded carefully on top of the dresser. Lee wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Over-achiever," he muttered under his breath as he fully stepped into the room, somewhat annoyed, since he didn't want to sleep in there anymore. However, that didn't stop him at all from snooping around. He wandered over to the dresser and mirror, casually pulling open drawers, peering in, then closing them, disappointed at the lack of anything interesting.

He then strolled over to the chest-of-drawers and pulled out the top drawer and looked in; a grin crept slowly across his face as he stared down at the contents. Of course, there were clothes folded with care, as there had been in all the other drawers he had checked. However, resting on top the pile of clothes were: a half used dime bag and rolling papers, an unopened pack of cigarettes, a couple of disposable lighters, and an opened box of condoms. With a relieved laugh, the silverhaired man turned around and pushed the drawer close with his back. His head was down as he continued to laugh, forgiving his nephew and thankful that Jin hadn't been exactly like Kazuya afterall. After a few moments, he managed to compose himself and straightened him, smirk still on his face and marched out of the room. He pulled the door shut behind him, glanced over his shoulder, and noddedwith respectat the door. Lee then headed back up the hall to Kazuya's room to lie down.

The air in the room was thick with dust, and he coughed a bit when he opened the door. He didn't go in right away and leaned in the doorway to soak in everything. As with Jin's room, everything was tidy, though almost too tidy; Lee recalled that Kazuya had been neat to the point of being compulsive, arranging and rearranging items constantly, cleaning three or four times a day, and reorganizing his files and notes for no reason on a regular basis, some of which still sat neatly on the desk in the corner of the room. The bed, of course, had been made; Lee could tell that was Heihachi's doing, however, from how the bedspread was folded, since it was slightly different from what Kazuya would had done.

On the floor, there were cardboard boxes stacked and set against one of the walls, which the silverhaired man knew were filled with Kazuya's belongings he had acquired while residing Chicago. He frowned, pondering why they hadn't been destroyed or put in storage at the very least, yet he felt a relief wash over him; perhaps it meant that Heihachi had forgiven Kazuya. Finally, he came into the room and cautiously headed to the bed. Slowly, he sat down on it, facing the dresser and mirror.

Nothing sat on top of the dresser, and there were no pictures on the mirror. It was neat and bare, much like the rest of the room. However, Lee felt the same distressed presence he always felt when he was around his brother, particularly during the nights when he used to crawl into bed with Kazuya and slept. Of course, he hadn't done that since he was a child, and definitely not since before their mother had passed. And yet, those were some of the memories he enjoyed most, the sound of a heartbeat when he pressed his ear against his brother's bare chest and his aroma of soap and sweat, bittersweet but refreshing. It made Kazuya human.

Lee sighed and rubbed his temples again; fatigue was starting to hit finally. He lifted his head and glanced down at the bedspread; it was carved into strips of light and shadow from the sun streaming through the cracks of the blinds. With a small yawn, he turned his back to the window, picking up up the single pillow from the bed. He gripped it as he laid down on his side and stared out out into the room at the dresser and mirror again. Lee inhaled deeply; despite the heavy smell of dust, there was a faint scent of cologne and detergent on the pillow.

He wanted to cry.

o.o.o.o.o

Hwoarang stirred a little as the sun light from the half opened blinds hit his face. He groaned and turned to his back away from the window. Surprisingly enough, Julia had let him stay in her room the night before. She seemed rather forgiving or at least willing to forget about the previous day. Hwoarang himself decided it was better he didn't ever mention it again, as much as it hurt him.

There was a soft, persistance sound of shuffling, to which he tried to tune out as he hovered between waking up and falling back into a deep sleep. Eventually, the young man ended up opening his eyes slowly. His vision blurred then focused as he stared out into the room, and he blinked. Confused, he sat up, taking care to not to make a sound.

Julia was up and standing at her dresser, her back to the older boy as she was hunched over. He felt a small grin form on his lips; she was wearing nothing but her red bikini briefs, and her long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. As tempting as it was, Hwoarang restained himself and watched, mesmerized with every subtle move the younger girl made; it was enough just to watch her like that, though a small bit of shame nagged him for being aroused. He reminded himself that wasn't his fault though.

She stopped and straightened up. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder and straight at Hwoarang; her face was tearstreaked from panicking, and she turned around fully, the cigar box in hand. The older boy blinked once then carefully pulled his covers off before standing up, keeping his gaze steady on Julia.

"Good morning," he said quietly. She was silent and continued to stare at her guest, her face hardening into something he couldn't quite read.

He added cautiously, "Did you sleep well?" Again, silence. "I guess not."

"Where is it?" she responsed finally, ignoring any gesture of good will he had shown; her voice came out eerily calm in comparison to her face. Hwoarang frowned as he approached the younger girl. When he reached her, he didn't say a word and instead tenderly ran his fingers through her hair, causing some of it to trickle forward over her bare breasts. He smiled down at her fondly; in the pit of his stomach, he felt ill-ease, however. He knew what she was asking about, and his mind drifted momentarily to the picture that sat tucked safely in his duffle bag now.

Julia swatted away his hands, "You've been going through my stuff. Where is it?"

He frowned, "Where's what?"

Angrily, she held up the cigar box and opened it, shoving up to his face. Hwoarang stumbled back a bit, startled at the sudden gesture. He blinked once and stared down at the necklace before relaxing a bit and carefully plucking out the chain and charms.

He had honestly never looked at either charm up close. The ring was plain, no decorations or engravings, which bothered Hwoarang to some extent. Aside from the sentimental reasonings behind Jin giving the ring to Julia, the utter lack of personality of the ring was odd. However, it had been well-taken care of and still shone beautifully, as did coin, though its one exposed face was nearly completely worn away. There was an inscription on the backing of the coin which he couldn't read, though Julia had mentioned once that it had belonged to her mother.

"How come you don't wear this anymore?" he asked as he as unclasped the delicate gold chain and wrapped his arms around her to fasten the necklace around her neck. Quickly, he pulled back and straightened out the necklace, placing it neatly between her breasts. It took almost every ounce of self-control for his hands not to wander; the warmth and softness of her bosom was something he missed sorely. Though, he did find himself wondering if she missed being touched in that manner at all, and if so, if she missed it because of Jin.

His train of thought was broken when she jerked back, staring wide-eyed at him, her mouth parted slightly as she started to say something. She didn't speak, however, nor did she push away his hands this time, which he took as a sign that he could go a little further. Hwoarang's hands moved slowly outward, and he cupped a breast in each hand. His thumbs lightly brushed over her nipples, which hardened with each deliberate stroke. Again, she did nothing.

He leaned down, bringing his face to hers, his mouth parted a bit like hers; he could feel her breath quickening against his lips and her body warming up as he fondled her. A slight grin formed on his mouth; for once, he was winning, even if it was just for a moment. Hesistating a little, he swallowed hard then leaned in completely, gently nipping her lips once, twice, then with a bit more aggression, he fully kissed the younger girl. His hands slid down from her chest, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Julia quickly broke it off and shoved him away, "What do you think you're doing?" Her voice again was even, cold, and she ripped off the necklace. With an angry huff, she threw it back into the box, breathing heavily from both being upset and aroused. He shrugged and sat down slowly on the bed, keeping his gaze forward at the dresser. The only sound in the room was their breathing and the songbirds outside. The older boy crossed his arms and rested them on his knees as he leaned forward, still not taking his eyes off the dresser.

She stepped in front of him, her free hand on her hip; her other hand shook the box condescendingly, rattling the ring and coin inside. Sighing heavily, he looked up at her and narrowed his eyes.

"Where's my picture?" she repeated coolly; Hwoarang was silent. In response, she began tapping her foot, waiting.

Finally he shook his head and replied, "I don't understand why you can't just let go of him."

"_You're_ the one that keeps bring him up."

"Because one of us has to." He stood up, and he glared at Julia before walking past her to the bedroom door.

She threw her hands up in disgust, "Hwoarang, where is it?" He glanced over his shoulder, still frowning.

"You never answer my questions either." And with that, he turned back around, pulled opened the door, and left, slamming the door behind him.

o.o.o.o.o

He hadn't had enough coffee, Lei decided. As he sat next to Drake, half-listening to his briefing for that morning, he worked to keep himself from nodding off. He wasn't sure if it was really fatigue or just plain boredom. Either way, he knew that he didn't want to be there.

". . .Well, it's only been two years, which should be recent enough to run forensic tests on the skeletal remains," the balding fed said tenting his fingers as he leaned in over the table he, Lei, and several other specialists and agents were sitting at. Lei's head jerked up as he caught himself about to doze off again, and he frowned as he resituated himself.

One of the specialists frowned, "Well, that's true enough, Agent Drake, but I'm not sure exactly what that would accomplish, aside from just reconfirming what's already been established."

"Kazama wasn't subjected to a proper autopsy," he replied as he sat back in his seat. "His family had him embalmed and buried immediately. You can't tell me that doesn't reeks of what happened to Kazama's father."

"...I'm not familiar with the whole story, so no. What happened to Jin Kazama's father?"

Drake shook his head, "The guy was supposedly mugged in an alley and gunned down when he was leaving from work one night. Heihachi Mishima made sure no one but the coroner saw the body, and supposed it was cremated before anyone else could view it." Lei blinked as he realized what exactly was being discussed, and he sat up slowly.

The specialist shook her head, "I'm sorry, but I still don't see how--"

"--This may be our only chance to finally get Mishima and put him behind bars."

Lei's eyes widened, and he stood up, "Wait a minute. Do we even have permission to go digging up Jin?"

Drake chuckled and looked up, "Detective, you of all people should know that Heihachi Mishima was Kazama's only living family. Since Mishima is the one we're investigating, we can bypass permission from next-of-kin."

"What about Heihachi's surviving son? Doesn't he count?" The detective began pacing back and forth. "I'm sure you know about Chaolan Mishima. I would think--"

"--And Chaolan was not Kazama's legal guardian at the time of death. And I heard that he didn't even attend the funeral. I think we can consider that as permission enough." Lei crossed his arms slowly in shock as he gazed down at Drake, who kept a straight face.

Drake continued, "Detective Lei, I know you're very familiar with the incidents two years ago. You were one of the witnesses, correct?"

"...Yeah, but..." Lei frowned and sat back down. "I can tell you, he was gunned down and then shot point-blank in the head. And it's the truth. There's no reason to--"

"--Did you know that those documents and witness interviews are missing and have been for well over a year?" Lei was silent and shook his head; he felt his stomach gnawing on itself as he listened numbly. "Agent Bryan Fury was the only person that could possibly had known what happened. Now, that he's gone..."

"...You have to start from the beginning," the detective finished as he hung his head.

"Well, that settles it. We'll send a crew out tomorrow morning. I want to get this done as quickly and cleanly as possible."

Lei spent the rest of the day feeling sick as he continued to sort paperwork, and tried to prepare himself for the next morning. The one thing he had hoped for was that it wouldn't had had come down to that. He knew it was useless and that Drake would be sorely disappointed with his findings. Body or not, there wouldn't be enough evidence.

As he gathered his things to head back to Paul's, Lei reminded himself of that. He tried desperately to take comfort in that, knowing at least in that way, he had kept his promise to himself; it didn't matter if Jin was Kazuya Mishima's son, he was Jun's first. And anything regarding Jun was Lei's personal business. He promised to look after Jin, and he was going to do his best. No one, not even the federal government, was going to exploit Jun Kazama nor her child.

Lei chewed on the inside of his cheek as he cleaned up and carefully restacked the few remaining unsorted papers to place back into the tub. He wasn't planning on bringing them home at all that night after spending two whole days organizing and rereading. Unfortunately, he did see what Drake meant by missing filework; several audio tapes of his and Julia Chang's interviews and questioning were missing, and reports of findings and evidence confiscated from the Mishima estate the local branch of the company were missing as well, including a possible murder weapon. He remembered Julia's testamony particularly well, mostly since he and her mother had told her what to say.

His frown deepened. It was indeed a repeat of what happened to Kazuya Mishima, right down to the rehearsed testaments. He relaxed some as he placed a stack of folders into the tub sitting on his desk. There was no use in getting worked up about it like he did then. For now, he had to just go with everything and hoped for the best. With that thought, he was ready to see Paul and maybe go out for drinks later. Quickly, he finished placing the last few folders away and snapped the lid shut. With a soft yawn, he turned his back on his work for the day.

His office door opened, "Detective?" One of the receptionists popped her head in the door meekly; he nodded and gestured for her to enter. She sighed with relief and pushed open the door before stepping in. "This came for you a couple days ago." In her hand, she held a small envelope, and she held it out to Lei. He gave her a friendly smile and nodded as to thank her as he took the envelope from her. The younger woman nodded, turned, and quickly exited.

Annoyed, he shoved his mail in his trouser pocket and left as well. There would be plenty of time to read it later.

o.o.o.o.o

Julia left the house hastily that morning, quickly saying good-bye to her mother with her head down and not a word to Hwoarang. As she went outside her front door, she pulled her grey hoodie over her head, then scurried over to her car, in a hurry to leave before Michelle did.

After she got in her car, Julia sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel. Her breathing was shallow and stagnanting from trying to keep from crying again. She glanced up when the front door opened and her mother stepping outside and pulling the door shut. The older woman marched up to her daughter's car and knocked on the driver's side window.

Julia hesistated before rolling down her window, but she composed herself quickly and did so. Her hands went back to firmly gripping the stirring wheel, but she kept a steady gaze on her mother.

Michelle crossed her arms, "Jules, tell him."

"What am I exactly supposed to tell him, Mom?"

"How about the truth?" the older woman replied coolly. Julia clicked the roof of mouth with her tongue then glanced forward at the windshield. "Jules, he's losing patience--"

"--You think I'm enjoying this?" The younger woman looked back up at her mother, her face was drawn down in a taunt frown as she fought off tears. "And how do you think he'd take it? He'd either think I was crazy, or he'd blow up with that temper of his. Hell, probably both." Julia pulled her hands from the wheel and folded them on her lap.

The older woman frowned, "Robert's changed a lot, and he obviously cares about you. I just hate to see you lose someone else--"

"--Don't. Please, Mom, I already know, and I'm not going to ask him to stay or to leave. Rang's an adult and can make his own choices." Julia leaned over and started her car.

Michelle blinked as her daughter rolled up her window. Julia, however, didn't drive away, but finally hunched over and began sobbing. With a heavy sigh, the older woman shook her head and turned to her own car.

Julia didn't look up again until she heard her mother's car start and drive off.

It took her a few minutes to recompose herself. Deep breaths, clenching her teething, doing everything in her power from getting out of her car and smashing the windows in with the crowbar in the trunk. She looked down at her hands; they were balled up into tight fists and were trembling, to no surprise to her at all. She stretched her fingers a bit then concentrated on getting them to stop shaking by counting backwards from one hundred until she calmed. Julia then looked back up at the house; her frown tightened, and finally she put her car in reverse and pulled out.

The roads that morning were still wet from the rains the day before, making a spectacular show of reflected sunlight in the puddles as her car splashed through them. It almost made Julia to want to abandon her car at the side of the road and just leave Dreyfus by foot and enjoy the morning; the bright golden colors that bathed everything in warmth, and for a little while, she was able to forget about her spat with Hwoarang earlier until she suddenly she realized that she was going to run a red light. At that point, she stamped down on the breaks then waited, humming to herself, mostly to keep herself occupied.

She hated this town and she hated whenever she had to come home. She had spent so much of her childhood daydreaming of escaping there, particularly after her parents divorced. Sometimes, Julia didn't know what was worse: living alone with her mother or being surrounded by her father's new family. Either way, she felt isolated; when she was little, Julia used to dream of running away, maybe to New York. As she got older, New York became California, then Canada, then Europe, and then finally Mexico after she had been seeing Jin Kazama for a little over two years. He was fixated on leaving as well, though it was more a less due to some kind of unsettling feeling that he wouldn't speak about with her.

That was probably what she remembered most about him, how ill-ease he was. Jin never talked much; hhe figured that he had been taught not to speak unless spoken to. Respectively, he had told her next to nothing to her about his childhood in Japan. In that sense, Julia really never considered herself as anything other than a companion to Jin. Friends, maybe. Lovers, of course. In love, never.

But, he wanted to leave, and he had the means to do so. He had money, though it was something he never bragged about. He didn't need to, he was a Mishima. Everyone in the whole goddamned town knew he was Heihachi Mishima's grandson, or more importantly, Kazuya Mishima's son, and it was hung over him as some of punishment for simply existing. Julia often wondered if he resented the fact. However, she never asked; it wasn't her place to. She was just to there to keep him company, and she latched onto him. She still hated herself for it; after that last night she spoke Jin, she vowed to herself never to attach herself to anyone like that again.

The light turned green and traffic moved forward.

She wasn't sure exactly where she was going that day, though soon Paul Phoenix's garage was came into view. The shop itself wasn't opened yet, but his bike was parked around the back. Julia sighed with relief and changed lanes to pull over into the parking lot. She always made some kind of effort to visit Paul whenever she was in town; she was fond of him and viewed him as family, sometimes even as a father figure. There was a hope that maybe, just maybe, her mother would reconsider him as a mate, though that was another faded wish left over from her childhood.

She parked her car then quickly jumped out.

Through the glass of front door, she could see the biker working, going over figures with his reading glasses on before he was to start working on vehicles that morning. She smiled to herself; Paul had always been the image of hip, even in his work clothes. His denim jumpsuit was clean for the moment, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a rag shoved into one of his back pockets that waved back and forth like a flag as he paced and read to himself. His long hair was pulled back unto a ponytail, and aside from the hornrimmed readingglasses, he looked like the stereotypical macho mechanic lifted straight out of a movie. Julia lifted a hand and tapped on the glass. He looked up and glanced over at the clock then at the door. His face then lit up when he saw the younger girl waiting, and he closed the binder.

"Hey there, Miss Julie," he smiled as he opened the door to let her in. Julia immediately hugged the older man tightly, taking him by surprise. It was silent for a moment before he realized that she was crying, and he pulled away; he frowned as he placed his hands on her shoulders and nodded, stepping to the side to let her in.

Without saying a word, he led her into the waiting room and gestured for the younger girl to sit down on one of the couches. He then did the same and sat across from her, his face stern.

"What is it?" the biker asked softly.

Julia was silent for a moment, keeping her head done as she attempted to control herself; she hated crying. Most of her life, she had been taught that it was a weakness for women to weep; her mother never cried in front anyone, nor did her grandmother. She couldn't even bring herself to cry at Jin's funeral at all, as much as she wanted to, though the months after she had her fits in private. However, that wasn't out of sorrow.

"I...I..." she stammered before taking a deep breath and finally calming herself. "I wanted to ask you something about Kazuya Mishima."

Paul blinked then leaned back in his seat, "Okay, I guess."

With another heavy sigh, Julia looked up finally, "Paul, do you think he really killed those two girls? Those sisters? I know the whole thing was entirely speculation, but those stories everyone tells..."

"...No, I don't think he did." The blond's frown deepened; his face stormed over as he went deep into thought; he leaned over his knees and was silent as he stroked his beard.

"Mom says that--"

"--Julie, trust me on this. I hated the fucker, but I knew him well enough to know that he wasn't a murderer."

She sniffed once and brought up a palm to wipe her eyes, "Even though there's nothing to prove that he didn't do it."

"And there's nothing to prove that he did. They never even found the bodies." Paul stood up abruptly, rubbing the back of his neck. He began pacing back and forth, keeping his gaze off Julia. "You know, I get sick of people accusing Mishima of killing Annie. He loved her. _Loved_ her, Julie. As if it's impossible for _them _to feel that way--"

"--But, he wasn't human," she replied, her voice meek and almost child-like as she tried to find some kind of logical argument. "Like Jin. Jin isn't...wasn't human. They're not people."

Paul paused, his back to Julia. Again, he was silent; he looked up at the ceiling then hung his head, shaking it. Slowly, the biker turned around, his face drooped sadly as he finally looked Julia in the eye. Despite his expression, she was eager for an answer, her eyes still stinging from her tears. However, she straightened up in her seat and neatly placed her hands on her knees as she waited.

"You loved him, didn't you?" he asked softly as he fully turned to face the younger girl.

"...I thought I did. But the more I think about it, I'm not so sure--"

"--Julie, you can't think about those kinds of things. Love isn't something rational. Love isn't something that you can just put into some kind of mathematical equation and sum it up." He chuckled harshly and continued, "The world would be a much different place if it were that easy."

She glanced away, "...I know. But, you weren't there. You didn't see it."

Paul's frown tightened, "...You know, I remember when I got the news about Mishima from your mother. I didn't want to believe that rational people would play God like that." Slowly he sat back down, this time next to Julia, his gaze forward. Numbly, he continued, "At first, I felt this sigh of relief in the back of my head, though, like this was supposed to be my justice for losing Nina. But, it wasn't. Maybe I was the only one, but I still thought of him as a person. I grew up with him, I butted heads with him. Hell, I remember sitting next to Annie's bed with him when she lost that baby, since Nina refused to go see her. But most importantly, I respected him, Julie." Paul rubbed his temples painfully, "Mishima was one of the few people that I honest to God respected, even if he was a prick."

He added in a murmur, "To me, he was a person, regardless of what I've been told. And I don't think any differently of Jin. I can't. He was a damned good kid, like his mother." The blond glanced over at the younger girl. Her face was eerily placid, as if she was satisfied with his explanation. As if he had said exactly what she wanted to hear.

"Thank you," she said, managing a weak grin. Julia then stood up; Paul folded his arms, then leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze was forward, again not on Julia. She, however, tenderly placed a hand on his shoulder before walking away to leave.

The front door jingled as it swung shut behind Julia, yet the sound was almost lost entirely beneath the ringing in her ears. The air outside was sticky and humid now that sun had risen completely. However, she didn't mind, since it made the air heavy with the scent of drying mud, a smell she adored. It reminded her of playing in puddles after rainfall as a child; she walked towards her car, though not sure where she should go then. And of summer vacations traveling to Arizona with her mother and father; when she reached the car, she placed a hand on the roof and stared down at the door handle. And of that summer night when Hwoarang first kissed her while they waited together outside on her porch, refreshing and completely taking her by surprise, bold since Jin was right inside making a phone call. Hwoarang had been quick about it, though, smiling shyly at the younger girl when he pulled away as he pushed his red hair from his face to behind his ear.

She, however, didn't know how to respond and stared at him in astonishment, unable to move until the front door creaked opened, and she heard Jin's voice: "You two ready?"

Julia stared down at her hand, which was still planted on the car roof.

"It's not fair," she whispered to herself.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

The café, he remembered it well enough, though it was remodeled now, and Kazuya sat alone eating a bit of breakfast and drinking coffee. He had no idea where he was supposed to go now; he had left the bus station in Dreyfus hours ago, and more or less had been wandering on his own, soaking in the scenery. So much of it was familiar, although alarming.

There was a reason why he had left, that much he knew. However, he wondered what it could had been. Nothing solid came to mind, aside from idly wondering where he was going to stay while he was there. He took a sip of his coffee and looked across at the empty seat in front of him, suddenly feeling lonely. A part of him actually wanted his female companion to appear, smirking at him. However, he quickly shook that off. Sitting in coffee houses didn't seem like something he would had done on a regular basis before the institution, and he decided that was what was causing his uncomfortableness.

Kazuya had noticed he just didn't trust people. Even when the cashiers and waitresses smiled at him, something went off inside of him. His mind constantly wondered if they wanted something else from him, if they were going to turn him back in, and so on. All of which, the answer was "no", and he knew that. Yet, it still happened, though it was lessening as the day passed. Eventually, he stood up, his coffee half finished and cold; he was ready to leave.

Surprisingly enough, he was able to give the cabby an address, something that had been whispered into his ear lovingly by the Asian lady, though she remained unseen. It was almost as if he could feel her warm breath against the back of his neck, her finger gently tracing the contour of his ear and jaw with a playful giggle that hinted of sexual desire. He managed to keep a straight face, disgusted at himself and at her. Whether or not she existed, he didn't like the thoughts he was having, wondering exactly what it would be like to make love to her or pondering if he _had_ even done so in the past or in his dreams.

The cab driver responded, "You live a ways out."

"Yes, I know," said Kazuya. From that point on, he said nothing, unless he was asked a question. Mostly, he watched the scenery, and the cabby rambled on, discussing his day and so on. Small talk. The further out from town they went, the more ill-ease Kazuya felt. Though there was nothing but flat lands and some rolling hills, he recognized everything. His teeth ground against each other as he watched the land in the distance slowly morph from flat grasslands to steep rocky hills. His hand went to his chest, the scar burning underneath his shirt. An iron fence and gate came into view.

"Stop here?" the driver asked.

"It's a little further."

"Alright."

He didn't recognize the car in the driveway at all. However, he quickly saw from the tags that it was a rental. For some reason, that was the first thing he noticed instead of the estate home that he was now pulling up to. The cabby whistled and made a comment, but Kazuya didn't quite catch all of it as he gazed on the stony facade of the manison.

The fountain in the front was going and filled with water. He blinked, surprised by that. The image he had in his head of that fountain was dried, covered in ivy. It had always been dry, that much he remembered. Quickly, he got out of the car, paid the driver, then made his way to the garage to let himself in. Without any hesitation, he punched in the entry code, and the door rose. Again, another car he didn't recognize sat inside, but he marched past it and to the door that led into the house.

A weight was lifted off his shoulders as Kazuya wandered around the house; he remembered every room, every piece of furniture, and could tell easily what had been changed in his abscence; it was one of the few times that a feeling of security blanketed him since he had left the institution. He stopped in the living room and glanced at the piano and the suitcase that was left there, then made his way over to the fireplace mantle.

His heart sank a little as he looked at the photos lined up on top of there; he could pick himself out in the group photos. Then his face was unmarred, and he sat next to his younger brother, whose eyes he recognized immediately. Sad, dogged eyes that peered out from beneath the younger boys shaggy brown hair, though as the photos progressed in time, the boy's hair became silver. Kazuya frowned, remembering that his brother practically went grey overnight when they lost their mother.

He murmured to himself, "...It's because he worried too damned much. That's all he did." He continued to look at the photos, none of which were individual photos of himself, though there were plenty of Lee and Jin, which bothered him; it seemed like he didn't exist outside the context of his family.

Kazuya then made a face at a particularly large photo of Jin, the same one that had been with the boy's obituary. He studied the picture a bit, unnerved that he could definitely see Jun's features in Jin, almost more so than he could see his own. He bit the inside of his cheek then decided to move on and head upstairs.

First room on the right. He remembered that, as he went up the stairs. When he reached the top, he paused at his door, surprised to see that the door wasn't completely shut, and gently, he pushed on the door just enough to poke his head in.

Kazuya blinked once and opened the door enough just to slip in and stood just inside the door, crossing his arms as he stared over at the sleeping man in his bed. Quietly, he made his way over to the bed, arms still crossed, then gazed down at Lee, who was still gripping his pillow with one hand. The younger man shifted from his side to his back, covering his eyes with the back of his hand, though still in a deep sleep. A light smile crept on Kazuya's face and he squatted to better eye his brother.

There were a lot of questions he had for Lee, as he studied his face, nothing he really had formed in his head, though. Yet, the weathered, tired look his brother had now, how much time had passed between the photos downstairs and memories, it spoke to Kazuya. He wanted to hear his brother's voice now, to hear if it had changed as much as well. Slowly, the older man stood up, however he kept his eyes on the sleeping man.

"Don't get too sentimental," the Asian woman said quietly as she stepped next to Kazuya. Her hands were folded neatly on her stomach, and she looked quite proper again. He, however, didn't answer nor looked at her, keeping his gaze forward. "Kazuya, he's one of the people who left you."

Again, no answer. However, he did turn towards the closet and strolled to it. Carefully, he pulled opened the doors, taking care not to wake Lee, and pulled out a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. He then closed the closet and quickly left the room, paying no mind to the Asian woman as she shook her head in pity at him.

o.o.o.o.o

". . .Forest, if it was honestly up to me, I'd let you stay over here. But, I'm already in deep enough shit with your dad as it is," Paul sighed into the phone as he paced back and forth. "Well, of course I'm worried about your well-being." He looked up as the front door opened; Lei stepped in and gave a little wave to the biker who raised his eyebrows at him as a greeting.

He went back to his conversation, "I think he's over that. He's had a couple years for it to sink in--Forest, don't say that. That makes me feel really uncomfortable. Okay, how's this? I'll call up Michelle and see if you can stay there. Your dad doesn't have to know you talked to me first, alright? Yeah, yeah, I know it's only for a few days, but still you know, it hurts him when you don't call. I know it's been hard for you to talk to him, but you're his only kid. He loves you." He was silent as he listened, and he smiled wearily at Lei, who by then had entered the kitchen and was leaning over the counter waiting. "Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't be more help, kiddo. Take care." With a heavy sigh, Paul hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Lei asked, lifting a brow.

Paul chuckled weakly, "Oh, you remember Marshall, right?" The other man nodded. "That was his kid. He's down in Australia, and I guess he got into some trouble and wanted to stay here. I'd let him, but..."

"Why can't he call his father?"

"They haven't talked in over two years, and thing is, Marshall's already pissed at me that his kid keeps in better contact with me than with his own dad." The biker stretched and headed towards the living room to sit. "It's fucked up." He turned around and beckoned for Lei to join him; the detective promptly obeyed and strolled out of the kitchen to Paul's side. Together, they entered the little living room and sat down next to each other on the couch.

"So," Paul began again, "how was your day?"

Lei slumped back in the seat cushions and let out a heavy sigh, "I'm already regretting not taking my full vacation."

The biker frowned, "I know, it must be hard, especially since it has to do with Jun..."

"It's not so much Jun. It's Jin and Kazuya," the detective let out an angry huff and closed his eyes. "You know, I admit that I hated Kazuya, but I have enough respect for the dead to know what we're doing is wrong."

"Is it so much respect or is it more that you thought he got what he deserved?"

Lei opened his eyes and chuckled, "That too." He looked up at Paul, ashamed that he had admitted that. However, the blond smiled down at him, seemingly understanding the other man's frustration.

The detective looked forward and continued, "I guess...part of it is that I felt sorry for Kazuya, too. I just wish we could had done the same thing for Jin."

o.o.o.o.o

Lee stirred alittle, still half asleep as he heard what sounded like the shower going across the hallway. However, he decided that it couldn't had been the shower, since he was the only person in the house, and he drifted back to sleep. His mind was screaming at him to wake up, but his body for once, actually stayed put.

o.o.o.o.o

It was twilight when he did finally managed to wake up, and he sat up slowly, painfully rubbing his eyes. The room was dim, with only the last lavender light of the day coming into the room through the blinds. The first thing that came mind was to call Anna, which he then buried his face after he looked at the window finally, realizing that it would be late where she was. However, he quickly jumped out of bed and went to the closet to grab some of Kazuya's clothes to change.

Even after twenty years, Lee still couldn't quite fit his brother's clothes, and he tightened the belt around the jeans he was wearing. This amused Lee; his waist was still quite a bit more slender than Kazuya's had ever been, and as always the pants legs were too long. The black t-shirt Lee had grabbed was baggy and hung loosely, despite how muscular Lee was; Kazuya had always had broader shoulders and a longer torso. He looked up and made a face at himself in the mirror before trotting off towards the door.

Lee blinked and slowly pulled the bedroom door shut behind him. The door to the bathroom was open, and the light from the room spilt out onto the floor and onto him. He then looked over at the stairs and cautiously made his way downstairs.

o.o.o.o.o

Anna scurried out of the kitchen as the phone rang, hoping that it was Lee calling; she had been worried since he hadn't call yet that night, since she had no idea when he was supposed to be arriving in Chicago. A few times, she had called his apartment but kept getting his voice mail. That bothered her, though brushed it off, telling herself that he hadn't left Kansas yet.

"Hello?" she asked sitting down behind the desk.

Nina chuckled, "Anya, deary, it's me." Anna frowned and rolled her eyes.

"You do know it's almost midnight here, I hope" the redhead mumbled.

"Oh, my apologies. Sometimes I do forget about the huge time differences. Feeling better at all?"

"...I guess." Anna sighed heavily and glanced over at the front door; for a moment, her throat tightened but it passed quickly.

From the other end, Nina sighed as well, though it was condescending. She replied, "I think part of it is where you're living now. Just in the middle of nowhere--"

"--It's quiet, the winters remind me of Ireland, and the springs are perfect," Anna snapped back. "And it's not the middle of nowhere."

"I'm not saying _move_. How would you like to take a trip to cheer you up?"

The younger sister blinked and was silent. Slowly, she stood up, "...Nina, what are you planning?"

"That transparent, am I?" the blonde laughed. "Oh, Anna, the people I'm working with are so incompentant. I send them out and they can't even find one little boy. You, however..."

"What are you talking about?"

"I need a good partner for this job." There was a pause before the older woman continued, "If I pull this off, I can retire for good."

"...Nina, you know how I feel about your work--"

"--Anna, you're no doubt one of the best. Some of my regular clients still talk about how fantastic your work was. It's a shame that you've pulled out of the business, all that talent going to waste..." The blonde sighed lightly again. "And to think, if this goes right, we'll have $30 million of Heihachi Mishima's money live off of, along with the money he's paying for what that little shit Kazuya did to us."

Anna's mouth dropped a little and she stammered, "D-did you just say Heihachi Mishima?" She could almost see the grin on Nina's face growing.

"And thirty million in cash. Just to split between you and me," Nina sang sweetly. Anna was silent and stared over at the door again. She then sat down again, still not sure to respond.

"Anya?" the older sister asked.

"...I can leave in the morning."

o.o.o.o.o

"Perfect, I'll see you in a day. Love you, darling," Nina Williams smiled. She then hung up the phone and looked over at the three men that sat with her in the conference room they were in. The blonde then frowned at her subordinates and stood up, brushing off the white linen pants suit she was wearing.

"Well, gentlemen," she began. "Now that you've royally fucked up this hit, I'm going to have to let you all go. We still don't know where Steve Fox is, plus we have the police looking for you two--" She threw a glare at the tall bald man and his friend, who rubbed his aching jaw, "--Quite a mess. Mr. Freedman was not pleased at all." She then mumbled under her breath, "This is why I hate working with other people...especially men."

"Nina," the bald man protested as he stood up, "it's not like we expected them to have someone that well-trained working for them! And then Fox just disappeared entirely!--"

"--No excuses," she said as she crossed her arms. "All I can tell you know is you had better pray that the mess your friend made at the Hilton fleshes our little world champ out." The men all hung their heads, embarassed. The blonde assassin, however, didn't take notice and marched towards the exit. She thenpaused at the door.

Her back still to them, she added coolly, "However, I don't believe in miracles. Good day, gentlemen."

With that, she exited, slamming the door.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

There were two things that he noticed: first, the burning colors and second, the stench of mildew and gun powder. He hadn't noticed those earlier, before everything had happened for some reason. His thoughts had been too clouded with regrets, fears, relief... Just every emotion possible had flooded through the boy at that moment of watching the dark halls of the tomb light up with an angelic light as what he figured the souls of the fallen floated off to rest, dancing like the fireflies that he had watched the night before. But now, he lie on his back and stared up at the stony, vaulted ceilings, his chest burning and throbbing with unbearable pain.

His ears still rang painfully with the sounds gunfire. However, underneath the blaring, the the faint sobs of a girl drifted, growing louder and louder until it was piercing. That too hurt his ears, and he had wanted to cover them. The gunfire had been expected, but not that. That was too much. Jin attempted to bring his hands up to his ears, however the pain in the chest sharpened even when he moved a little. So, he was still just a while longer.

He closed his eyes and prayed; the wailing became quiet sobs, and the murmur of other nervous voices, footsteps shuffling over the dusty ground. Then silence. The more he idled, the more his emotions began to dwindle away, one by one, until all he felt was rage. His eyes flew open; burning colors, the hot lead that ripped and singed his flesh.

Was this what he had wished for? Death? It came in a flash of hellish fury then awashed him. No, death was peace. A wildness rose in his veins, and the blood that he thought he had bled away flowed through him, hot like the flames that lit his view. Hot like the flames that tried to take his life the first time so many years ago. Slowly, Jin rose, ignoring the stabbing in his chest and head.

The silence was unbearable, the wide eyes that stared at him in fear. Though her eyes, _her_ eyes weren't the same as everyone else's. They stared at him in wonder, the anguish that had just filled them gone. He looked away and at his target; the old man had his back to everyone and was walking away towards the exit; a path of moonlight cut through the fiery torchlight, the path that Heihachi was taking.

_"This is for your own good,"_ he had said before firing the final shot, a single bullet that should had released Jin. But there the young man stood, watching silently as his last connection with the world walked away, leaving him for dead. But death would not come. Death always seemed to refuse him. Jin looked down at his hands; there was no blood, despite what he had expected. He turned his hand around and stared down at his palm. A bullet dropped into it.

Bullets rained from him, hitting the hard ground with pour of metallic pings. Death always seemed to refuse him. The scar beneath his tattoo began to burn like it did the night the gods had their way with his mother. The silence, the old man turning around, her eyes staring at him.

Her eyes staring at him; Jin charged at the elderly man, his back suddenly bursting with pain, yet he kept running at Heihachi, who did nothing more than brace himself as his grandson slammed into him and through the wall.

And they tumbled down from the top of the pyramid. Jin felt his nails digging into flesh, and the scent of blood hungered his fury more as he and the older man accelerated to the ground. The smells of the outside, finally. Dried foliage, animal musk, wood burning; they reminded him that he was still alive. That he was something beyond dying. But, the pains in his back were excruciating, and he dug deeper into Heihachi's shoulders.

He stopped, however. The old man wasn't fighting back and stared his grandson straight in the eye, dignified yet saddened. It was then Jin realized that they were going to hit the ground and, he panicked, tensing back with his shoulders. The world slowed then, and he released his hands.

He could see his grandfather staring up from him at the ground, apathetic as he rubbed shoulder where it bled. The world was still slowing as if Jin was watching everything in reverse; the ground grew further away, as did the sounds of nature, until he was high above the weathered steps of the ancient temple. And he could see Julia standing at the mouth of the tomb staring up at him, still filled with wonderment and bundling herself in the sweatjacket he had loaned her that night to cover herself. It was as if she had suddenly became ashamed that he had seen her nude, had violated her with his touch, had sacraficed her every time that he had made love to her. He smiled to himself at the thought.

As her face blurred as he rose, the sounds of the night wind and gentle beating of wings calmed him. Peace of mind, what he always wanted. Peace of mind, what he remembered seeing on his mother's face before they closed the casket. Peace of mind, what he always knew came with death.

Yet Death had refused him.

Jin sat alone in the living room on the couch that night shirtless; Christie had long excused herself to her room, and the light was off. He knew, however, that she wasn't sleeping. When she was upset, she tended to close herself off for awhile, and he respected that. He was still collecting his thoughts, trying hard to rationalize his life, as he often did at night as he waited for sleep.

It was times like that when he tried to decide what made him who or what he was. There were the times in the morning when he would look at himself in the mirror and see his eyes glowing red. It hadn't been until the last night in Mexico that he realized that everyone knew long before him. Everyone had expected some kind of...change, as he timidly referred to it in his head, too afraid to even visualize the words "demon" or "monster" in relation to himself. Yet, he never had the slightest clue; now, he looked at his reflection, and part of him morbidly fascinated as the dark markings, ornate tattoos of lighning and thorns, showed up on his face and across his chest, his forehead spliting open to reveal a third eye that gazed back with apathy. That, he saw something beautiful and powerful within the marks; his other half, however, alwaysscreamed back in protest, crying like a little child.

It wasn't fair.

He flattened out on his stomach and curled up on the couch, keeping his head turned out where he watched the hallway and listened. How he longed to hear another's heartbeat, to feel someone's warm breath against the back of his neck, to smell the scent of perfume. He thought of last night he spent with his mother and of the wordless truce they finally had called. His eyes squeezed shut, still angry at her for many things. For his childhood, for lying to him, for leaving him. He wanted so much to entirely forgive her but his hostility was still there. His eyelids relaxed as his breathing slowed.

And Jin Kazama drifted off to sleep.

The soil felt rough against her on back, blades of grass cutting against her skin. Around her, she could hear the sounds of the wind and distant traffic, though those were almost drowned out by his heavy breathing above her. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her blouse being opened, each button popped off slowly as the fabric was parted. Her bra was then tugged hard on from the front, jerking her body off of the ground once before it snapped open. She cried out a little with the sharp pain that came with that, and she dropped back down to the ground her eyes still closed.

It felt like the night air was suckling her tits; the coolness caused her nipples to pucker and harden. His presence still hover above her, he was on his knees, his rough hands tracing every contour of her body. She cringed with every touch, wishing that he would get it over with; she had lost her struggle, as the bruises on her body showed. The admiration made it much more humiliating, plus she was too tired to fight any longer. His hand began to knead her breasts.

There was something disturbingly tender about the gesture, the slow, thorough motions that had under any other circumstances, she probably would had welcomed. In fact, she _had_ fantasized about what it would had been like with him on several ocassions. She opened her eyes yet kept her head to the side. Through the grass, she stared at her hand and wrist, which was pinned by his other hand. His free hand slid lower to beneath her skirt, first gingerly tracing the insides of her thighs with his fingers before rubbing against her clit through the thin cotton of her panties. Again, she tensed, and the panties were ripped off. She yelped as the elastic cut against her legs and burned; her eyes clamped shut again. Though she had already been trembling, now she was shaking violently. His hand left her body, then she heard the faint sound of a zipper and the rustle of cloth.

The other hand left her wrist. However, before she could sit up, her legs were grabbed up behind the knees and she was strandled. Against the most sensitive area between her legs, she could feel him, hard and hot-blooded, and his fingernails dug into the skin of her thighs. It was then that she worked up the last bit of her nerve to look up at him.

Her eyes widened with fear. She wanted to scream, but it was lost in her throat at what she saw, and she blacked out for a moment.

When she awoke, she had been left alone on the side of the road, the city lights still glittering off the horizon. She lie quietly, listening, the whispers of the wind and of insects chirping. She shifted to her side and curled up, knowing that she needed to get back to her hotel room. However, it hurt to move, and even hurt for her to close her legs, yet she did so, as if trying to fend of more violation. She wanted to stay in that spot forever, hoping that she would disappear into dust. His scent was still there, the faint, warm scent of cologne and his body that lingered around her, mixed with the fresh smell of dirt and grass.

It made her choke, coughing and tensing up until she sat up, her hand over her chest as she heaved. Heaving until it hurt, hurting until she could finally cry.

Jin groaned a little as he felt fingers running up his spine. The light stroking was soothing, and he murmured something under his breath. A name, perhaps, half imagining that time had mended itself and it was Julia or his mother that tenderly touched him. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see that it was morning; he had almost expected to open his eyes and see that he was in his mother's bedroom or in the ward that he had stayed in for months after the fire. The fingers stopped and a hand rested on his shoulder.

"Jaime?" Christie began softly. "You okay?" Jin rolled to his back and gazed blankly up at the younger girl before sitting up. For a moment, he was silent as he looked down at his feet, which were nearly hidden beneath the legs of his flannel pajamas bottoms; his hands were at his sides and gripped the edge of the couch.

"Jaime?" she repeated, her hand still on his shoulder. Finally, he looked up. He was startled by her face, motherly and tired. Concerned, of all things. It was something that he wouldn't had expected at all from Christie. His own hand went up to his shoulder and rest on top of hers, before managing a small smile.

Jin almost replied "I'm fine", which was something he was used to saying regardless of what he was feeling. However, he didn't this time. He opened his mouth to start to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes closed, and he swallowed hard.

He reopened them, "I'm...I'm sorry." His smile grew a little, something he couldn't control.

"I was waiting to talk to you," he continued carefully. The younger girl nodded once understandably. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said as she shifted in her seat to better eye her roommate. "I'm not mad. Never was." Again, he didn't reply right away, though his smile continued to grow into a full grin. He was happy to see another face, a fear of being left alone again, but it was starting to fade with the warmth of ths hand on his shoulder and daylight.

Jin leaned in and kissed her once timidly. When there was no protest, he did it again, this time sure. And she responded back with the same gesture, until she was flat on her back on the couch with him on top of her, kissing her deeply and intensely. He moved from her mouth to her neck then to her breasts, which he carefully lifted the tanktop she was wearing that morning and then leaned over her again, flicking his tongue across one nipple until it was erect then gently suckling it. She moaned softly and ran her fingers through his hair.

There was a knock at door. Jin pulled away, and glanced over his shoulder at the front door, then looked back down at Christie, who pulled out from beneath him and sat up.

"I'll get it," she said quickly, hopping up and keeping her head down as she scurried over to the door while straightening her clothes. His eyes followed her, confused.

When she reached the door, she cleared her throat and sang, "Who is it?"

"It's Grant."

She immediately unlocked the door and opened it, "It's kinda early--"

"--Christina, I need a favor," the bookie blurted; behind him, Derrick and Forest stood. It was obvious that none of the men had slept in a long while. Forest was leaned against the wall across from the apartment door, his arms crossed. He glanced up at the woman then looked over at Grant before turning his head again with impatience.

"Yeah, sure, come on in," she moved to the side to let in her guests; reluctantly, Forest pulled himself off the wall and followed his two friends into the apartment. "What's wrong?"

Grant nodded, "We just need someplace to hang until we can get to the airport tomorrow. We're in a bit of trouble."

" 'A bit'?" Derrick snapped, nearly sneering. "We nearly get killed and that's all you can say?"

Christie gestured to the couch, "Well, shouldn't be a problem. Besides, I owe you for the tickets." Grant nodded again, though ignoring Derrick's comment. Forest still had his head turned until Grant tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a seat next to Jin.

"Eh, you might ask Jaime for some smokes. I know you haven't had any for hours, and you're pissy as hell," he whispered.

Forest let out a frustated sigh and turned to face his friend, "It's not even that--" He stopped and looked past Grant at Jin, who leaned over with his arms crossed. His elbows rested on top of his knees, and he watched the entourage with a raised brow. Jin then glanced over at Forest. For a second, he still seem fairly apathetic to the whole situation, until something registered with him, and he did a double take and stared at Forest, perplexed.

Forest squinted, "...Yeah, you're right. I'll be a lot less edgier if I had a cig..."

"That's the spirit!" grinned Grant as he patted the American on the back once then went over to talk to Christie in private. Forest made his way over to the couch and sat down next to Jin, making sure to look the other man over completely. His gaze fell on the distinctive tattoo on Jin's arm, and his eyes narrowed. He looked up at Jin's face, which had went back to being nonchalant.

"I don't fucking believe it," Forest growled under his breath.

o.o.o.o.o

Steve paced back and forth, still waiting to hear how Smart's surgery had went. The boxer had finally gotten a change in clothes and a shower, and he wore a black t-shirt layered over a long-sleeved white tee, a pair of baggy black jeans, combat boots, and a tabagan, since it was a little cool that day. He was thankful that no one seemed to recognize him, and as he waited with Smart's cell phone to hear from the elderly man's family, he began to wonder exactly what he needed to do at that point.

He had called his parents the night before; they had been elated by his victory supposedly. Though, in the back of his head, he anguished over the fact that they didn't come to any of his big matches that year. He had always felt that they had been disappointed by his decision to become a professional boxer instead of wanting to go to med school. Though medicine did interest him, and he would be getting a Bacholar's in the area, he really had no desire to continue school long enough to become a doctor. So much of that came from spending the first years of his life constantly being tested and probed by doctors for reasons he didn't understand then and still didn't understand.

Nervously, he rubbed his left arm. He honestly hated hospitals for the same reason. And the smell. He wasn't sure why exactly he hated the clean scent. It was as if he could still smell the sick and dying beneath it, but there was an association he didn't quite get that triggered something in the back of his mind. But still no clear image ever attached itself to this. Nothing important. He stopped pacing and sat down in one of the chairs in the lobby. Nurses and orderlies past him by as he waited.

o.o.o.o.o

"Alright, dinner," the orderly mumbled as he pushed a cart into room.

The mute woman stood at one of the windows her back to the orderly as he stopped and placed her food on the little wooden table.

"Dinner," he repeated once more. She didn't move and continued to stare out the window, her hand pressed against the glass; it was late evening and aside from what was lit up by the street lights, there was nothing to be seen outside. The soldiers were also making their last rounds for that day, taking head counts on all the patients and workers and their heavy footsteps could be heard echoing throughout the building. The man sighed heavily, not at all surprised by her response then turned his head as a soldier came to the door holding a clipboard and gestured.

"Patient ID?" he asked, though already knowing the answer.

"D100037-G," the orderly replied. "Name unknown." The soldier nodded as he checked off that number on his board before heading off to the check more rooms. The orderly sighed with relief when the soldier left and continued placing food on the table and gathering dishes from the lunch hour.

"Well, enjoy dinner," he said cynically, knowing that she wouldn't turn around, let alone say anything. Hastily, he swiveled his cart around and pushed to the door.

The woman glanced over her shoulder, "I have a name."

He froze then slowly turned back around to see the woman facing him and staring at him, her eyes glowing with a golden light and her body incased in blue flames. Her hands were folded neatly over her abdomen, and the look on her face was placid, emphasized by her other worldliness. His eyes widened in fear.

Down the hall, the soldier trudged towards the stairwell to go to the next floor until he heard a scream. He spun around to see the orderly fly backward from the room and slam into the wall; he slumped down into a sitting position breathing heavily. The heavy cart he had been pushing sped out after him and rammed him, which one of the edges hit his throat, and he gasped for air, his esophagus crushed from sheer force, until he fell to his side, twitching as the last bits of life left him.

The soldier was paralyzed as he watched, unable to even bring himself to pull out his rifle and approach until the lights began to flicker. Instinctively, he dropped his clipboard and took up his gun, which had hung like a saddleback at his side. Cautious he approached the room, the lights around him flickering in and out until the building went entirely black; even the emergency lights were dark. He stopped however, when he saw the woman walking slowly towards him from the other end of the hall way, her way lit by the eerie yet gentle blue flames that ingulfed her yet did no harm.

"Oh my god..." the soldier whispered as he straightened up, dropping his weapon in awe.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

The suitcase had been moved. Instead of sitting in the middle of the living room, it was placed out of the way next to the piano. Lee frowned, pondering if he had moved it himself but then thought of the bathroom light on upstairs. As he looked around, however, he saw nothing else out of place; everything was as he had left it. He then yawned and stretched, making his way to his luggage to pull out his cigs and lighter.

It was muggy that night, though noticeably cooler than it had been during the day. Regardless, Lee took a deep breath of the sticky air before shutting the backdoor behind him; he then absentmindedly popped a smoke in his mouth and lit it in one graceful motion. Nonchalantly, he made his way to the dojo in the garden.

The garden had been one of the few things he missed terribly from his childhood. It seemed to stand still in time; the same gnarled cherry blossom trees and their artifically green leaves that were still in the night air and the closed blooms that managed to pepper the stones and bark with color. The rock garden was neatly racked as he always remembered it. He stopped to pull his cigarette from his mouth and to squat down, eyeing the rocks and stone posts that stretched out from the tracks of perfectly formed sand. Weathered stone posts of lotus flowers and smiling Buddhas, it made a landscape of unrealistic tranquility and reassurance. He could see why his father escaped there so often now.

Slowly, Lee stood back up; he looked out towards the dojo, the way lit up by the two rows of lanterns that laced the sides of the cobblestone garden path. He took another long drag from his cig before restarting his trek to the darkened building.

His head was bowed as he entered the dojo; the room was lit dimly from the laterns outside that reflected off the polished hardwood floor from outside the picture windows. He looked up as he pulled the door shut behind himself, and he felt his blood turn cold.

_Kazuya's dead, right_?

Anna's terrified voice echoed in Lee's head as he stared out at the silhouetted figure seated on the floor. The man before him turned his head and glanced over his shoulder at Lee, then stood slowly, turning to fully face the silverhaired man.

Lee could make out Kazuya's features, lined in the weak, golden light that came from outside. He looked exactly the way that Lee remembered him, the few wild strands of hair that hung by the side of face, the scars that Anna had left on his face, his confident posture. Slowly, Kazuya grinned, his eyes crinkling up, though it was a slight smile. Lee was silent, still in shock as he gazed over the older man carefully, not sure if he was looking at a ghost. His gaze went straight into Kazuya's eyes, and he waited.

The wild look of fear was missing. Lee felt himself relax, seeing his brother as he always liked to remember him. Though, he still waited for the eyes to glow fiercely. However, they did nothing, and carefully Kazuya approached his brother, smile still on his face.

"You don't look very happy to see me," Kazuya said in a low, yet amused voice. The younger Mishima blinked once, again still dumbfounded. It was definitely his brother's voice, the unmistakable rich, dark tone.

Lee finally mumbled, "...I'm...I'm seeing things. I have to be." He grabbed the sides of his head and squeezed his eyes shut. The older man stopped a foot shy of Lee then shook his head disapprovingly, placing his hands on his hips.

"Chaolan," Kazuya began softly, "It's okay. We have all the time in the world to catch up."

"No!" Lee whipped up his head. "You're dead! You're fucking dead!" His hands dropped to his sides and balled up tighly into fists. "I saw everything! There's no fucking way!" He felt his eyes watering, though he blinked it off, trying his best to look his brother in the eye.

He knew that he was trembling. His emotions at the moment were going haywire; he felt twenty years of guilt finally lifted off his shoulders and long forgotten fear returning. Confusion. Hate. Love. He wanted so much for the man standing in front of him to be his brother, but at the same time, he wanted Kazuya to be nothing more than a memory. Lee wanted to keep the perfect image that he had of his older brother, the one that he spend years sculpting lovingly in his mind like a fine masterpiece. Yet, really looking at Kazuya, really seeing him again, only the worst seemed to surface. He saw the ugliness, the bitterness, the hatred. He saw Anna crying in his arms. He saw a monster, something capable of hurting another human being in the cruelest of ways. He saw what everyone else remembered, his memory ruined despite the warmness Kazuya was showing.

And somehow, Lee was still convincing himself that he was seeing nothing. Only a wish.

Perhaps just his guilt.

It was silent then, and the younger man watched the face of his ghost. The look of relief melting slowly into disappointment and hurt. And he waited.

Lee tensed up as a hand stroked his cheek tenderly then stopped, resting as its thumb gently continued to stroke his cheek. It was warm. Warm though with the time-hardened roughness Lee had always loved as a child. His eyes squeezed shut again, and his shoulders hunched up as he finally began weeping softly to himself.

He didn't fight as his brother hugged him.

o.o.o.o.o

There was things she would had like to forget, however her dreams wouldn't let her. Anna twitched in her sleep; she was slumped back in her airplane seat, uncomfortable but exhausted. She hadn't thought much of her life before waking up, rarely dreamt of it. Mostly, she had spent so much time and energy trying to forget it all. Long ago, she had accepted that she could never return that, and somehow was thankful.

She dreamt of the nights she spent curled up on his bed, crying herself to sleep over the child they weren't meant to have. Those nights he whispered lovingly to her as he cradled her, assuring her, sometimes even singing softly to her, like he was her father. She hated him for it; she had wanted that he leave her. But, he never did. Despite how much she fought and spat venom at him, Kazuya waited.

Then there was _him_.

There was another man, the man that she never learned to love. Yes, he looked like her Kazuya and sounded like him, but it wasn't him. She never did quite place a name for him, but on the days that Kazuya drifted away, he was there. Someone that hated her presence, someone that made it clear that she was unwelcomed. Someone that lived in the same mind and body as the man she had fallen for. But he wasn't her Kazuya.

That man had an infatuation with Jun Kazama, although so did Kazuya, who admitted it reluctantly one night.

"I'm not in love with her," he insisted quietly as he looked Anna in the eye steadily as she sat in his office that evening. It was their second anniversary, which they both had been amazed that they hadn't left one another. He hadn't expect her to stay, and she hadn't expected that he would still want her around. However, they still had made plans to celebrate, though with ennui. She sat in front of his desk stiffly and properly in a red satin gown that he had picked out for her. The cut of the dress had made her feel naked; strapless with splits up the sides the skirt that stopped at her bikini line. Her arms were covered with a pair of matching evening wear gloves, though; the only part of her that didn't feel exposed. She was uncomfortable, though she could sense that he was as well. The questions she was asking for reassurance weren't coming across as she hoped; they were much too transparent. She wanted a reason to leave.

Anna cleared her throat, "You said that...while I was gone, you did something you regretted."

"And it doesn't concern you," he replied quickly. He stood up and repeated in a stern voice, "...I'm not in love with her."

Her eyes followed him, "I know you're not. But still...why?"

"Why what?"

"Why her? Why not anyone else in the world?" Kazuya blinked, taken back at the retort. He was silent, breaking eye contact then casting his gaze downward, then finally completely turning his back on her completely as he walked over to the windows and stared out of them, his hand folded neatly behind his back. And again, she waited.

Jun Kazama. She was a woman that Anna was jealous of. Jun had been someone that the redhead had always considered perfect. Mild-mannered, virginal, soft-spokened. Motherly. Anna always imagined that was the kind of woman that Kazuya had always wanted, someone that would be a wonderful mother to his children, a loving wife, strength through serenity. However, Jun never held even remotely the same kind of interest that he had in her; he only could touch her through pictures, memories, fantasy. Yet somehow, he had made himself perfectly content with Anna, despite their differences, despite how she even told him that she hated him, and through the nights they fought, the nights she didn't come home, the nights he didn't come home himself.

"She..." he began in a low voice, his back still to Anna, "she has something I need. Something you can't give me."

"Just say it. I'll leave."

Kazuya turned back around, "But I don't want you to go. Anna, I--"

The plane rattled violently from turbulance, waking Anna with a start. Slowly, she straightened up in her seat and glanced out of her window. Daylight; wouldn't be long before her shuttle landed in Paris for her last connecting flight. The irony of the whole situation pained her; she was going to see her sister for the first time in years just to relive the life she detested so much. On top of that, Jun had won in the end; she was the one that had Kazuya's only child, giving him the family he always longed for.

It was what he needed.

It was something Anna wasn't able to give him, something she would never be able to give him.

o.o.o.o.o

He wanted a truce. Wordlessly, Hwoarang placed the photo on the table in front of Julia. He then sat down in across from her, though his hand never left where he gently nudged the picture towards her; they were in the breakfast room, alone in the house. Despite having her company all day, he felt isolated. His small victories added up to nothing.

She won.

Julia stared down at the mutilated picture, her hands tightly gripping the edge of her seat, mostly to hide that they were shaking. Her eyes never looked up, and she was still silent. He started to pull away his hand, until she darted up her own hand and placed it over his.

"No, wait," she said, her voice raspy from half-holding back tears.

He pulled his hand out completly from beneath hers, "I lied, I'm sorry, I'll stop." Hwoarang pushed out his chair and stood up.

Finally she looked up at him, defeated.

"You know," she started softly, slumping back in her seat with her eyes still fixated on the older boy, "I'm so happy you came back with me."

Hwoarang shook his head, "Just stop, Jules. You got your point across. Do me a favor, and don't try to gloss it over."

"I'm not trying to do anything." She slumped down further, "At least...not anymore. There's no point." Her gaze dropped down at the photo.

"Hwoarang?" she asked.

He shook his head, "No, I don't fucking believe in God."

"...I don't either." Her eyes stayed lowered. The older boy shook his head again then turned to leave. Earlier during the day, after Julia had left for the morning, he had gathered his belongings, making plans to stay with his parents for once. He figured anything was better than constantly having his affection thrown back into his face. At least his mother wanted him, even if his father didn't. At least he knew exactly where he stood when he was with them, as much as he didn't want to be around them. He knew his place there, and that was comfortable.

"Hwoarang?" she asked again.

He sighed angrily and spun back around, "What?"

"It's not you."

"I know. It's never been me. It's Kazama." He turned back around and marched back to Julia's room to get his bag.

o.o.o.o.o

He already had his ticket, yet only half of the luggage he came with and his passport. Steve stood waiting in his terminal at the large bay windows, watching planes land and take off; he was already imagining that he was on each one of the departing planes, heading home to see his family. However... He glanced down at his new ticket: one-way trip to Alburqueque, New Mexico. He hadn't told his family yet of his plans, and had decided it was best that he didn't.

His found his thoughts drifting to Smart. Steve hated that he hadn't got to stay around to properly say goodbye. He had waited and watched from behind glass as the elderly man struggled to breathe after his surgery. The boxer could only whisper his goodbyes then, but it was the only way.

An automated announcement of a woman's voice rang through the airport, and he looked over his shoulder. There were no men in black following him this time, no woman in black. Though he was still nervous; it seemed almost too easy that he could leave like this. He rubbed his left arm nervously and turned back to the windows. His body relaxed as another plane pulled out to go down the runway.

A stuffed rabbit. For some reason, that came to mind. He remembered leaving his stuffed rabbit behind when he was a child, after his new parents had gotten him and took him to the airport. They were flying to England, his new home.

"No, we have to go back!" the little boy had cried. "I want my Bun-bun!" He cried the entire trip from wherever it was he had been to the airport, and of course during most of the first flight until he fell asleep in his new mother's arms.

His mother had replied softly as she stroked his hair, "We'll get you a new rabbit, love."

Steve replied sleepily, "I want Bun-bun. He helps me not be scared." He pointed to his left arm, then bandaged up and in a cast. He was a pitiful sight; a sickly little boy barely five, and his gauze covered arm and hand stiff at his side, wide blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled and more so when he cried, his blonde hair that didn't quite have the shine that it should despite how neatly it was cut and washed. However, he snuggled up against the woman, as much as he missed his toy.

He added with a yawn, "My daddy left it for me." And the little boy nodded off to sleep.

"...I wonder what happened to that toy?" Steve murmured to himself; another plane, his flight, pulled in slowly. Over the PA system, a chime sounded and another announcement, and the boxer pulled away from the windows. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then reopened them; the other passengers were gathering in lines at the terminal exit, chatting mindlessly with each other. He half listened to conversations about the weather and politics as he slowly made his way to the end of the line. The entire time, he keep expecting to see the suited men to come through the crowd, like vultures menacingly circling a dead carcass. However, he saw nothing.

That didn't stop his heart from beating fast; he still could feel their eyes watching him as he moved up the line. Finally, he came up to the end of the line, showing his passport and driver's license to the guard at the exit. He glanced over his shoulder once more; only a few travellers were behind him. The young boxer sighed heavily with relief as he was given his ticket stub, and he walked onto the plane.

o.o.o.o.o

". . .Alright, I'm on my way," Heihachi said flatly before hanging up the phone. He was sitting on the bed in his hotel room, still as he stared at the phone for awhile before standing slowly. It was after midnight, and he had been receiving phone calls non-stop for the past hour or so. He wasn't sure what to think of the whole situation. Another patient was gone during circumstances more jarring than what had originally brought him there. The elderly man rubbed his temples painfully with his thumb and forefinger.

He was still fully dressed and had no desire to leave his room. He wasn't afraid at all, however. Instead, he felt indifferent. During his life, he had seen too much, experienced too much. He wondered idly if it was some kind of test, something to make him admit that there was indeed a God, and He wanted to be acknowledged. The old man pulled his hand away from his face.

For a moment, his thoughts changed to pity for the missing woman but quickly he dispelled that from shame. Pity was what had left him without a son nor a grandson. Pity had caused him to do the unthinkable to the people he was supposed to love.

Though, he did find himself wondering if he was at capable of love anymore. The frown he wore deepened: pity was all he was able to give now. That was why he was there.

His thoughts drifted back to the last few months that had spent with his wife before she passed away. She had become interested in religions during the last few years of her life, reading and researching books on Western and pagon religions and philosophies. Many nights, she requested that Heihachi bring her books from the libraries, often furiously taking notes at during the day since by then that was all she was physically able to do; Kazue had never been healthy. She had been sickly as a child and hadn't been expected to live beyond her late teens. However, she did live long enough to happily marry Heihachi and have a child.

She had often asked Heihachi if he married her out of pity. He denied it constantly. Yet over thirty years after her passing, he wondered about himself. Yes, he had claimed that he loved her and always said it sincerely while looking into her eyes. However, Heihachi was very aware that his wife suspected that he was having an affair.

Back thenk however, he was certain he still loved Kazue. He wasn't sure now.

The phone rang. This time, he ignored it, though it did startle him, reminding him that he was expected at the institution. The old man sighed heavily, twisted his back to pop it, then reluctantly made his way to the door.

o.o.o.o.o

Lei couldn't sleep that night. He was lying on the couch in his room, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes had long adjusted to the dark, and he glanced over at his jacket hanging on the doorknob on the far end of the room; its silhouette seemed to morph in the dark, twisting and contorting into different shapes. At times, he swore he could see some kind of demon, leathery black wings that spread out and jagged claws. He was waiting to see the red glowing eyes. In fact, he wanted to see the eyes.

Perhaps that would mean the past twenty years of his life had been a dream, and he was finally waking up. If he could somehow just relive that moment, the one moment that made him realize how insignificant he was in the end, he would. That was something he had told himself constantly until two years ago. When he _did_ finally get that chance again, he panicked, fearing that he would break his promise. And he felt he had.

The detective huffed heavily and sat up, keeping his gaze on the jacket. He leaned over, crossed his arms, and rested his elbows on his knees. For what felt like an eternity, he just watched, letting his mind torture him until the hall light clicked on; sickly yellow light oozed beneath the crack of his door, and the sounds of footsteps softly tiptoeing down the hallway into silence; the light clicked off quietly. Lei stood up and made his way to the door.

After peeking his head out, the detective cautiously made his way down the hall. He listened carefully, hearing the refrigerator open and glass clattering. When he reached the end of the hall, he looked over towards the kitchen; Paul was bent over in the fridge, and he stopped moving before glancing over his shoulder at Lei.

The biker turned back to what he was doing, "You want a beer?"

"I guess," Lei replied fully entering the room and leaning over the counter. "Sure."

"Alright." Paul straightened up, two beer bottles nestled between his fingers by the necks as he shut the door. As he approached the counter, he pulled one of the bottles free with his other hand and offered it to the other man. Lei nodded as he grabbed the bottle.

"Couldn't sleep, either, eh?" Paul began as he twisted off the cap of his drink. Lei shook his head and did the same. The detective watched as his host throw his bottle up and take a long chug before he took a drink himself.

Paul pulled the bottle from his lips and swallowed hard, "You know, I talked to Shelly's girl this morning."

Lei blinked, "Oh?"

"She's still trying to convince herself he's dead. Damned shame, if you ask me." Lei nodded once weakly and leaned back over the counter; he took another drink then focused his attention on the other man.

The biker continued, "It got me thinking: why do we call them monsters?"

"What do you mean?"

"How are we any better than them?" Paul hung his head. "Why is it...when a group of people decide to take the life of a man who didn't do anything to any of us, we're somehow in the right? Why is it that we're not monsters as well?"

"...You're having morality issues _now_?" the detective lifted a brow, straightening up.

Paul shook his head, "Lei, don't act like you don't feel bad. I know you do." He looked up and gazed intently at the other man. "That's what you said just awhile ago."

The detective didn't reply but instead looked away and took a swig of his beer.

"Isn't it?" the detective repeated.

"...Yeah, I did, but--"

"--But what?" Paul leaned over the counter himself, keeping his gaze on Lei. "What did Jin do to make us call him some kind of monster? Hell, what did Mishima do to any of us that was so horrible to warrent death?--"

"--He should had stayed the fuck away from Jun, that's what," the other man growled under his breath.

"...And you call that a reason? Okay, what about Shelly? What did he do to her? Or Lee? Or me, for that matter? Nothing." Paul straightened up and downed the rest of his beer. He turned his back to Lei and leaned back, his back against the counter and his elbows resting on top. "Mercy killing, my ass. Killing is killing. We all killed a man, Lei. None of us may had been the one to pull that goddamned trigger, but we let it happened. Then we all tried to pretend he never existed."

Lei narrowed his eyes, "What about Nina?"

"What about her?" the biker laughed. "You honestly think I think Mishima did something to her? Hell no. That would had killed Annie. He fucking _loved_ her. He wanted to marry her, for God's sake!" Paul spun around, "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"...Paul, I just don't think..." Lei sighed heavily and set down his beer before straightening up completely. "...I don't think he would had touched Jun if he loved Anna as much as you say he did."

"But that's by _your_ set of morals."

"Paul, please. The last thing I need right now is for you to get preachy on me."

"...I'm sorry."

It was silent then, both men refusing to look at each other. Outside, the murmurs of cars passing were the only things to dare to challenge the quiet. Eventually, Paul sat down on the kitchen floor, still holding his empty beer bottle.

"Paul?"

There was no answer, aside from a long, disheartened sigh, which alarmed Lei. The detective sighed himself then finally went around to the other side of the counter to join Paul, who glanced up then looked away, shaking his head in pity.

Lei sat down next toPaul; hepulled his legs to his chest and hugged them, "...I'm dreading tomorrow."

"I know. I am, too. For your sake," the blonde replied in a low rasp; he finally looked over at Lei, his eyes saddened.

"And...I still worry about him. I worry he's not eating well, I worry that he doesn't have a roof over his head. I worry he might be hurt or sick..." Lei straightened up then laid out on his back, staring up at the light fixture. "You know, all those things I should've done when he was here."

"I think we all do." Paul set his bottle down, then stretched out on his back as well. Like his guest, he stared up at the ceiling pensively. "...He was a damned good kid."


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

"Ever wonder how everything would had turned out had Kazuya not died?" Lei asked quietly; he and Paul were still sprawled out on the kitchen floor. A case of beer and too many conversations to count later, it was now nearly dawn. The two men were both lying on their sides, facing each other, their faces just inches apart, though they were both comfortable with the intimacy. Outside, the first songbirds were singing, which made the day still seem farther off than it was for Lei. He waited patiently for an answer, watching Paul's face as daylight slowly lit up the little house.

The biker shifted a bit and folded his arm beneath his head, "Not really. I don't think I'd be any better off."

"You don't think you and Nina would had gotten married?"

"Nope. She wasn't the marrying type."

"...Too bad, I guess."

Paul shrugged and rolled onto his back. He was silent then as he watched the ceiling fade from a sleepy blue to a delicate yellow as sunlight filled the kitchen. Lei turned on his stomach and rested his head on his folded arms as he waited patiently.

The biker finally spoke, "What time do you have to be at the cemetery?"

"Not until noon," the detective responded; he chuckled and shifted a bit to make himself more comfortable. "This should be interesting."

"What are you going to say?"

Lei closed his eyes and responded sleepily, "Nothing. I'm just going to act surprised, I guess." He heard a frustrated sigh come from Paul then reopened his eyes to see the blond staring straight at him. "Really, Paul. What else can I do?"

"I don't know."

"I know...it's not really the right thing to do in the end, but for now, it's going to have to do."

Paul shook his head and pulled himself up to a seated position, "Well, it's fine for you for starters, but what happens after that? Julie'll have to relive all that shit all over again...she's still a mess from the last time."

"I don't think anyone could ever really get over something like that..." Lei sat up himself, stretching and yawning. "I mean, it still scared the hell out of me when Jin changed, even after the whole deal with Kazuya. And it was just so...quick. No warning, Paul. It wasn't like Kazuya where we all just kinda watched him over the years turn into that...thing."

" 'Thing', huh?" the blond's frown deepened as he stood up abruptly. Lei blinked and did the same.

"Hey," the detective began, "I know how you feel about the whole situation, but you have understand--"

"--No, no. I know, you're doing your job and all," Paul shrugged. "Keeping your promises--" He popped his neck once and stretched out his arms to crack his knuckles as he looked forward. "But, the longer you keep this up, the harder it's going to be fix things."

Lei hung his head, "...I know. I'm actually thinking...it's impossible now."

"Wouldn't say that, but it's pretty damned near impossible." With that, Paul casually strolled out of the kitchen, leaving Lei to himself.

o.o.o.o.o

"Crap, another one?" Miharu said as she peeked over Xiaoyu's shoulder that morning; Xiaoyu was checking her email before heading off to her morning summer school classes. Her roommate, Miharu Hirano, stood behind her, still wearing her undershirt and panties. The other girl was silent and nodded once as she read through a particular message again.

"Really, you should block the bastard," Miharu yawned. "I mean those are just creepy, Xiao."

"...Can't block someone that doesn't have a traceable IP, Miharu," the other girl replied sheepishly as she scrolled back up to start reading again. "But, I did find out it wasn't Rang trying to mess with me." She began reading again slowly. "And honestly, why would he be the one apologizing for that summer?..."

Miharu blinked, "Huh? What happened?" She jumped up, hopped over to her bed, and sat down, resting her elbows on her knees and her head on her palms, a smirk across her face. "There's a good story behind this, and I want to hear!"

Xiaoyu glanced over her shoulder, "Oh, it's nothing. Just some stuff that happened a couple years ago. You know, before you started going to school here." The girl turned around in her seat and faced her roommate; she looked somewhat disappointed and frustrated. Miharu, however, pouted a bit and stood up, though still with a half-smirk on her face.

"Won't tell me, eh?"

"...Well, the guy graduated awhile ago. And, he's, well, I think he's dead."

The other girl blinked and stood directly in front of Xiaoyu, "...You _think_ he's dead?"

"He's supposed to be," Xiaoyu shrugged and turned back to her computer. "I mean, I went to his funeral and all. Everyone was acting really weird, though. His girlfriend--_ex_-girlfriend, especially. She almost looked like she was bothered to be there." She shrugged and opened another email, one addressed from Forest this time. "I mean, nothing against her, since we're still friends. But, for someone that was that close to Jin and even supposedly saw him get murdered, she just wasn't acting right." With that, she started reading; as she expected, it was a fairly short email, since Forest tended to rather talk on the phone or chat than to actually write long letters. Xiaoyu frowned as she got halfway through, then glanced over at Miharu, who still stood over her shoulder reading.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

Miharu shrugged and smirked, "Not really. You...really liked that Jin guy, huh?"

"He was a good friend. Really nice. A bit of a pothead, but heh, it's not like I don't smoke up every once in a while.--" she turned back and went back to her mail. "--Cripes, how the hell am I supposed to get him a ride from the airport without telling Jules?" she frowned. "I guess I'll call Paul or something. I swear, Forest gets himself into more shit..."

"You're avoiding the question," Miharu sang leaning over Xiaoyu, this time draping her arms around the other girl's neck. She leaned over into the girl's ear, "It's one thing to have a good friend, but it's another to really like him."

"Wow, you are really being annoying this morning."

"Sorry, but this is really interesting!" the girl laughed as she hugged her roommate's neck. "Besides, I can tell that this is bothering you... Say, that guy--Jin, right?--I mean, did you get anywhere with him?"

Xiaoyu glared up at Miharu, "What?"

"You obviously liked him in _that way_ if the fact that his ex bothers you--"

"--She doesn't bother me."

"She was then, though. Right?" Miharu hugged Xiaoyu again, "Right?"

The other girl sighed heavily and turned around in her chair, "It wasn't like that... You had to be there. The whole thing was just...off. It wasn't just her, Jin's grandfather, that detective, everyone that was involved, they just weren't acting right."

"One more thing, then I swear, I'll leave you alone."

Xiaoyu shrugged, "Okay, what?"

"So, back to that guy, since you keep changing the subject, what's the deal with him? Did you like him or what?" The grin on Miharu's face widened with slyness, her arms still wrapped around her roommate's neck. The other girl blinked, her face now only inches away from Miharu's.

They had been rooming together for three semesters now at the boarding house for their high school. It surprised Xiaoyu how well she actually got along with Miharu, considering they were complete opposites; she wasn't as into dating and socializing as much as her roommate, though they luckily did have the same tastes in music and clothes. Also, Xiaoyu focused much more on her studies and sports, which did end up causing a conflict or two when the other girl brought home her dates on school nights. Or just any night in general. Along with that, many of Xiaoyu's schoolmates did whisper behind her back that she had completely changed after Jin's death. At one time, she did seem as happy and bubbly as Miharu, but those days she shrugged off what anyone had to say about her. Most of her closest friends were out of school now, and she figured that was part of the so-called maturity to her personality, or rather her lonliness as she often admitted to herself reluctantly.

Though there were the nights would she would lie awake wondering if Jin really had affected her that much. She was still angry at him, though most of that came from confusion on exactly why he was do such a thing to her; she had never exactly considered herself particularly pretty, at least compared to Julia, and Jin had never taken any interest in her aside from treating her like a little sister. But, it was starting to make sense now, after spending time with Hwoarang again; her anger had started to curb some after that. If anything, she was sorry she every even let Jin touch her like that and felt a bit of pity on his part, which she felt she should had had for him then instead of now.

"Xiao?"

"...I think we just felt sorry for each other," she finally replied, her voice trailing off into thought. She glanced over her shoulder at her half-read email then looked back at Miharu, and her frown deepened.

o.o.o.o.o

Julia hesistated as she brought up her hand to doorbell of the Jennings' little home. She had never been to the house herself, since Hwoarang had always been reluctant to show anyone where he lived; he mostly just bounced from home to home of his friends until Paul had taken him in for the last couple years he lived in Dreyfus. She stared at the peeling paint on the stormdoor, then glanced around at the front porch; there were several overgrown potted plants and various rusted car engine parts that had been left carelessly outside for what she imagined was years. The one thing that did stand out the most was an old rusted tricycle, a red Radioflyer with the bell still attached, though its shine long gone and eroded away. She smiled sadly to herself as vision of a little boy racing up and down the sidewalk on the little trike came to her. With a heavy sigh, she finally turned back to the door and rang the bell.

It was a few moments before she heard footsteps and a deep voice bellowing, "Just a second!" As the door opened; Jonas had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and was mumbling profanties under his breath, his head down as he pull opened the door. The man looked up at Julia, the scowl that he always wore on his face deepened as he looked her up and down. She was wearing a tight red t-shirt that was cut short revealing her midriff and a matching plaid short pleated skirt. It made her seem younger than she was, along with the two braids she wore in her hair.

The girl cleared her throat and managed a small smile, "Is Robert here?"

"And you are?" Jonas asked, leaning in the doorway and crossing his arms. From behind him, thehouse reeked of bacon fat, and she could hear the skillet sizzling from the kitchen. Over the fizzing,Julia coulda woman's voice singing, though she couldn't understand the lyrics at all. That caught Julia's attention, and she listened for a moment before the older man cleared his throat out of irritation, snapping her back to reality.

"I'm a friend," she responded quickly then repeated, "Is he here?"

"He's asleep, but he needs to get his ass up," Jonas muttered as he moved to the side to let Julia in, who timidly took the invitation and stepped inside of the house. He gestured, "Follow me."

She was led past the kitchen where Myung sang and cooked, completely fixated on her activities that day. Julia noted that the older woman seemed content, possibly purposedly ignoring her husband and the strange girl that was in her home as she continued to sing brightly in Korean, her eyes glassed over. Myung only glanced up once, still singing and gazed blankly at Julia as Jonas led her past.

They down a small hallway, and the older man turned to one of the doors on the right and opened it in one forceful motion. It seemed like he was going to yell, but he stopped and moved to the side.

"Go on in," he said as he turned to address Julia, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. She nodded once meekly and did what she was told. Hwoarang was sitting on his bed, shirtless and leaning over his knees. He glanced up at his father then at Julia, and his eyes narrowed. Julia smiled at him, a geniune smile.

His bedroom was surprisingly neat and clean unlike the rest of the house, though the dresser was cluttered with papers and pencils; drawings of random things, like the trees in the front yard, cars, people, all of which impressed Julia very much, since they were very professional looking.

Jonas cleared his throat again, "I'll leave you two alone, but breakfast's in a few." Hwoarang mumbled something back in Korean, to which the older man responded crossly, "English! I get enough of that shit from your mother!" before marching off.

Julia sat down next to Hwoarang slowly, "...I didn't know that you drew."

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked standing up quickly and went over to his dresser, hastily stacking his work and then opening the top drawer and dumping them all into it. He then quickly turned back around and crossed his arms, sporting a look of both irritation and embarassment that made him look much like his father.

"Came to apologize. You left so quickly last night, and--"

"--I really have nothing else to say to you."

"I...I know." She stood as well, her hands folded on top of her abdomen. "I'm not expecting everything to just suddenly get better. But, I know I haven't been fair to you at all."

"You haven't been fair to _yourself_," he added dully. "Honestly, Jules, I know you loved Kazama. But he's dead. He's not coming back. How long are you going to keep beating yourself over that?" She shrugged a bit, not sure exactly how to respond. She watched his face, which was still hardened with annoyance.

He then uncrossed his arms and let out a frustrated sigh, "Okay, can I ask you one thing?" She nodded once pulled her hands away from her stomach to let them drop to her sides. "Where exactly do I stand with you?"

She blinked, "How do you mean?"

"I mean, is it worth it to me to be going through all this bullshit with you?" he repeated bitterly. "And don't give me that 'best friend' crap. I want a straight answer."

She was silent and looked down at her feet. Hwoarang, however, waited patiently, his arms crossed again and his brows furrowed. After what felt like an eternity, he let out a frustrated huff and threw up his arms in disgust.

"I'm going to breakfast," he mumbled as he turned back to the dresser and opened a drawer, this time pulling out a clean t-shirt. "I guess I'll see you around or something." As he walked past the younger girl, he tugged the shirt over his head.

"Rang, please," she said as she followed him, "That isn't something I can just answer right away!"

"Oh, please. You had almost three fucking years to decide. I'm taking that as a no," he laughed bitterly as they emerged from the hallway. He stopped in front of the kitchen and was silent as he watched his mother cook mindlessly, who only looked up to smile sweetly at him then went back to cooking and singing, placing another strip on the ungodly tall pile of cooked bacon on the counter. Hwoarang turned toward his father, who was sitting in the living room watching television.

"Why haven't you stopped her yet?" the boy called. There was no response from Jonas. Julia was silent and watched Hwoarang and then his mother, who continued to cook as if nothing was going on. Hwoarang marched into the living room and grabbed his father by the shoulder. "I know you heard me! Why haven't you stopped her?"

The older man sneered and pushed his son's hands off of him, "Why do yo think, you fuckup? And_get_ your hands off of me."

"You're the one calling me a fuckup?" the younger man laughed. "That's really rich--" Jonas stood up slowly, his gaze still on Hwoarang.

"You haven't been home one day, and you're ready to start something," the man growled dangerously. "You think just because you ended up making a few friends with some rich kids you're suddenly better? Look around, Bobby! This is _your_ world!" The two men stared coolly at each other, both daring the other to make a move.

Jonas continued steadily, "You're trash, just like your old man. Get used to it, because no one's going to think any different, no matter what you do or how much you try to clean yourself up." Myung's singing grew louder, almost to the point of screeching. Hwoarang said nothing, but turned away and hurried into the kitchen and to his mother.

He stopped short of her and began softly, "Mama?" She continued to cook and sing, though her voice had quieted back down to the pleasant level it had been earlier. He leaned in and placed his hand over hers to stop her, "Mama, there's enough for us to eat."

She smiled up at Hwoarang and said in Korean, "My son came home last night. I have to make him a big meal." She turned away and went back to singing and frying meat. He hung his head sadly then glanced over his shoulder at Julia, pulling away from his mother in shame. Silently he went over to the younger girl, then gently grasped her hand and led her to the front door.

"Don't come back," Hwoarang said quietly after Julia had stepped out of the door. He leaned in the doorway and crossed his arms. She didn't respond but gazed intently at the older boy. "Go on. Leave."

Julia shook her head, "Not unless you come with me."

Hwoarang rolled his eyes, "Jesus, Jules. Just go the fuck away, alright?" His voice cracked; it sounded like he was on the verge of tears. The only sounds after that was the his mother's singing and morning traffic in the distance. He waited for her to turn and leave, but she stood her ground, her hands folded over each other as they rested on her abdomen. The look on her face was oddly placid, which bothered him after awhile. He shook his head once and pulled away from the door to go back inside.

That was when Julia finally moved, leaning in and gently tugging on Hwoarang's shirt sleeve as he turned to leave. Annoyed, he turned back around, only to be met with a kiss on the lips, sweet yet swift. This stunned him, and he stared down at her, confused. Though, the second time she kissed him, he accepted it gratefully and pulled her close as he stepped out of the house; the storm door snapped shut behind him as he hugged her, burying his face into her neck and sobbed once weakly. She rocked him and stroked his head lovingly as he kissed her neck, cooing softly to him.

He couldn't understand the words she was whispering, but he didn't care.

o.o.o.o.o

"Emotional death," Jin said as he took a swig from his beer bottle. "It happened to me after my mom died. I just stopped giving a fuck." He took another drink and looked forward, "I still don't give a flying fuck." He was sitting with Hwoarang in the abandoned parking lot of the Louisville Bar, both were sitting on the hood of Jin's Civic. It was fairly muggy that night, though clear. Hwoarang was still somewhat at a lost as to why Jin had even invited him to go out and hang, especially since there wasn't anyone else around, but by that point, he decided it wasn't worth questioning. Jin wasn't being particularly hostile, and he never had been towards anyone in town.

The comment came as a response to something that Hwoarang never asked, but he figured that the other boy must have sensed what he was pondering, exactly what someone that had to constantly deal with what other people just assumed about him was like and what seemed like completely shutting down socially. Hwoarang even found himself wondering how the hell Jin even managed to pick up a girlfriend with his eccentric, almost anti-social behavior. But when finally given the chance to ask, he just drank his beer and nodded in agreement.

"Are all you Mishimas like that?" That was a slip, something that wouldn't had been said had not been for all the alcohol and weed. He was about to apologize until Jin replied.

"Yes, but only because assholes like _you_ ostracize us," the other boy said coolly before taking a long chug of his beer, finishing off the bottle. Jin then nonchalantly tossed his bottle aside; it hit the side of the building and shattered on top of several other old broken bottles. It was silent after that, Jin turned back and watched the traffic going by; a police car slowed as it passed the two boys but never stopping completely. That made Hwoarang tense up a bit; he still didn't feel comfortable when the police came around or just around anyone in town in general. Granted, he did understand that he had earned the distrust that people had for him, despite that nowhe meant well. He sighed heavily and glanced over at the other boy who still looked forward at cars passing by slowly.

Jin kept his gaze at the street, "We can go to my place. Maybe spar for a bit. I don't like the police staring at me like I did something wrong all the time." He then glanced over at Hwoarang, who nodded understandably as to accept the invitation, though it was still mostly an apology.

He hated how humble he became around people like Jin. Yes, Jin Kazama had money, was already well-educated, and in spite of how harshly people spoked about him behind his back, he had influence. Those were things that Hwoarang had always wanted, the things he saw would better himself, like Baek had asked. Though, at the same time, he felt like he was abandoning something while pursuing what his mentor wanted. What that was, he just didn't know at the time, and he was trying his damnedest not to care.

"I can't stay too long. I'm still under probation--curfew, whatever," Hwoarang added quietly, trying to hide his embarassment. Jin nodded once and hopped off the the car and stepped around to the driver's side to open the door. He then looked up and gestured at the other boy to join.

Hwoarang did so without protest.

He had never been out to the Mishima estate, and it amazed Hwoarang how different the land seemed from the dusty highway that led out of town. Though it was evening, he watched the moonlight dance off the grass on long ride out to the manor; slowly, the land transformed from the pictureseque landscapes into the sights that Hwoarang was more familiar with: rocky hills and formations, dead trees, and such. Somehow, that disappointed him; he had expected more.

Finally, they arrived. The manor itself was menacing looking, looming in the pale moonlight with a lone light on in the front. Hwoarang shivered a bit, disturbed by the loneliness that wailed from the massive home. When the car stopped in the garage, it startled him a bit; the hum of the engine suddenly cut, silent as Jin pulled his keys out of the ignition then promptly got out of the car. Hwoarang did the same quickly and quietly and followed his host.

What surprised him was how warm it felt inside, how lived in the place looked. It wasn't the home that he would had expected someone like Jin to live in. No servants, a few dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, school books on the kitchen table, the sheet music sitting on top of the piano.

He hesistated as he followed Jin through the house, then asked, "No butlers?"

Jin glanced over his shoulder, "No reason. There's only two of us living here, and no one uses the west and east wings of the place. And we're both more than capable of taking care of ourselves. I guess...well, Grandpa says that he hasn't had hired help here since before his wife died, and even then he only had a couple people on staff parttime."

"That's cool, I guess."

"I'm not sure I'd like having people wait on me anyway," the Mishima shrugged as he led his guest to the living room. Jin then gestured to a seat on the couch for the other boy to sit then made his way over to the end of the room to switch on the light. "It'd be too weird." He strolled casually back to the couch and sat down next to Hwoarang. "Expecting that I'd be a spoiled brat?"

Hwoarang shook his head, "No, I never really...got that from you, you know. I'm not sure what I expected."

"Jules said the same thing when I brought her out here for the first time," Jin said, smiling sadly. "I'm not sure why it shocks me so much that people think that. Nothing should surprise me anymore."

He then stood up, stretching, "...I did mention sparring, didn't I?" Hwoarang nodded once, standing up as well, not sure what to expect next. The Mishima rolled his shoulder once to pop it, then turned to leave while gesturing at the other boy to follow.

The garden bothered Hwoarang. He wasn't sure exactly why, he felt unwelcomed as he followed Jin. Jin stopped briefly and leaned over at a closed gardenia; the boy gingerly fingered the white petals, gently forcing the flower open as he stroked it with his thumb and forefinger. For a moment, he lovingly paid attention to the white bloom then suddenly ripped the flower from its stalk, crushing it in his palm. Jin began walking again; the withered petals fluttered from his palm. Hwoarang bit the inside of his cheek nervously yet continued to follow his host.

"I know it's weird, but I don't get many chances to spar with someone other than my grandfather," Jin said casually as he opened the door to the dojo.

"Hey, it's cool," the other boy insisted quickly. "I've been dying for a rematch." When Jin turned to look at him, Hwoarang managed an uneasy grin at the other boy. Jin chuckled once and shook his head as he gestured for Hwoarang to enter; after his guest entered, he then came in himself, pulling the door shut behind him.

Both boys took off their socks and shoes before walking out to the middle of the dojo, which was lit up brightly from the moon outside. It was all very foreign to Hwoarang; as much as he had trained in Baek's basement and even in a dojung, it was strangely immaculate, and he still didn't feel welcomed. However, when Jin bowed at him, his mind suddenly switched, and he did the same before slipping into stance.

As they fought, it was silent aside from the sounds of fabric moving. It was odd for Hwoarang, both and he and Jin still in casualware moving gracefully in the pale light from the windows, the eyes of the ink-wash tiger glaring at them as they went back and forth. Hwoarang's ill-ease slowly ebbed away with each kick and punch he threw. And with each one of Jin's movements he blocked and dodged, he felt the void that he had been feeling fill itself until he was whole again, completely losing himself in his art. His wonderful, beautifully violent art.

There was no winner. Hwoarang didn't want there to be a winner for once. For once, he was willing to accept vagueness. The revenge he had spent years wanting was pointless; he just wanted a reason for existing, a feeling of being whole again. He wanted Baek to be watching him as he bowed, tired and long beyond his curfew. It was worth getting in trouble again if just to feel complete one more time.

He smiled comfortably at Jin finally, exhausted but happy. The other boy did the same, one of his strange, shy half-smiles that he always did, as if it was wrong for a Mishima to smile, even within the privacy of his own home. Hwoarang stepped toward Jin, extending his hand for the Mishima to shake. Jin, however, didn't do the same.

Instead, he leaned in close into the other boy, hesistating a bit before cautiously bring his hand of to Hwoarang's face; the faint scent of gardenias filled Hwoarang's nostils, and he closed his eyes, taking all of it in. It reminded him of his mother's perfume, how he much he loved hugging her and burying his face in her dress before he trudged off to school. He reopened eyes when Jin's other hand touched his other cheek, and he stared back at the other boy, his own hands going up to hold Jin's face.

Vagueness, he was willing to accept now, as long as he could be himself again. Someone bold, someone that knew exactly what he wanted. And as he and Jin leaned into each other, their lips brushing with mutal fascination, Hwoarang felt his mind go entirely blank, his eyes closed again, as he just let himself just experience the heightened sensations he was feeling, the fantastic moistness of the other boy's lips that nipped at his, and finally he ended up being the one to want to venture further, curiously stroking his tongue against Jin's until they were both greedily grinding against each other.

And it was that night, as he came in Jin's mouth, that Hwoarang knew that he wanted Julia.

Her shampoo smelt of gardenias, he noted dully as he laid in her still neatly made bed, both of them still fully dressed; nothing had happened since he left with her from his parents. He was pressed up behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, and he inhaled into her neck deeply, despite not wanting to. The last thing he wanted was to think of his mother at that moment, though part of him needed it. He glanced over at the dresser as he kissed her once on the top of her head.

There were no pictures on the mirror.


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

Chapter Twenty-One

That day felt eerily the same as the day that they had buried the casket. The dry heat and burning sunlight, people constantly wiping sweat off their brows as the construction workers worked with their machinery to carefully dig up the grave. Lei stood next to Drake, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, sunglasses on as he watched pensively with each bit of dirt that was removed and piled next to the slowly deepening hole.

"You wouldn't think," Drake yelled over the noise of the machinery, "That it'd take an hour to dig a hole six feet deep."

"Huh?" Lei yelled back, still keeping his eyes forward; he hadn't heard what the fed had said, though part of him was purposely ignoring anything Drake had to say.

"I said--" The digging stopped, and Drake cut himself off as the leader directing the workers trotted over to the two agents, pulling his construction hat off and cradling it underneath his arm.

"Agent Drake, we're going to move out this equipment in a bit. We've hit the casket, and we have to get a crane to pull it out safely," the man said, his eyes squinted in the bright sunlight. The director then glanced over his shoulder. "I can also call a van to have the cargo transported to the lab as soon as we get it out. But it's going to be another thirty minutes before we start working again, just to let you know."

Drake rolled his eyes and started to reply, however Lei jumped in, "That's fine. You guys are doing great, and we appreciate your cooperation in this."

"Thank you, Detective Lei," the director said before cutting his eyes at the federal agent then quickly turning and leaving to finish giving orders to his crew. Lei's gaze followed the man as he hurried off, and the detective sighed heavily, his ears still ringing a bit from the low rumbles of digging equipment.

With eyes still forward, Lei commented, "You're awfully impatient about this."

"I just want to get this over with," Drake said calmly, pushing up his glasses with his index finger. "Heihachi Mishima's gone too long without a blemish on his record."

"...Maybe because he hasn't done anything. Ever thought about that?"

The agent laughed and glanced over at Lei, "That's ridiculous. There's evidence linking him to everything from embezzlement to murder--"

"--I'm no lawyer, but isn't that all circumstantial?" the detective shrugged. "And you know, even Bryan had his doubts."

Drake looked ahead at the workers; they were all gathered around their supervisor, listening intently and nodding. The balding man sighed heavily, "I know." He turned his attention back to Lei and shook his head, "I never did understand that. Someone that worked so long tracking this criminal, and Agent Fury still had his doubts in the end."

"Sometimes the more you learn, the less you know," Lei shrugged, still keeping his gaze ahead; he shoved his hands in his pants pockets and watched as workers began to dismantle and move equipment. He squinted a bit, the sunlight starting to get to him despite wearing his shades; in the blinding light he could almost see Jun standing there shaking her head at him in disappointment, and he frowned. The detective let out a heavy sigh, and closed his eyes, her image burnt onto his vision. She was otherworldly, flowing white sundress, her plainness that still somehow managed to make her more radiant than any other woman he had known.

He blamed that on his sentimentalism. He knew that she had never been perfect, that possibly she never had the same feelings for him that he did for her. But still, that was how he judged every woman after her, by how close they came to being her. And of course, there was never anyone that even remotely came close, not even Wenjun. Lei suddenly hated himself for that.

The detective took in a deep breath; the air was heavy with the scent of the earth, dry and dusty from the digging, and he reopened his eyes.

o.o.o.o.o

Lee shifted on the bed he was lying on before yawning a bit and finally opening his eyes. Slowly he sat up and glanced over at the window; he could tell that it was late in the morning, perhaps even well into the afternoon. He then rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath as he jumped out of bed and hurried out of Kazuya's bedroom, upset that he had slept in.

He stopped halfway down the staircase as he saw Kazuya standing in the living room; the older Mishima brother's back was turned as he studied the pictures on the mantle again. Lee frowned to himself and continued downstairs.

Kazuya glanced over his shoulder, "Good morning," then went back to staring at photos, his face drawn down in a tight, frustrated frown.

"Morning," the younger man yawned as he walked past his brother to enter the kitchen. He paused, however, surprised at how natural it was to be speaking to his brother now.

He had spent most of the previous night in shock, barely able to respond to anything Kazuya said or asked. Yet, the older man had been patient, seemingly understanding his brother's disbelief. Eventually, the older brother ended up coaxing Lee to go back to sleep, and Kazuya slept on the couch since, like Lee, he was ill-eased by Jin's bedroom.

Lee hesitated a bit then began, "Kaz?"

"Hm?" his brother responded, facing his brother and crossing his arms.

"I'm...happy to see you. I really am."

Kazuya chuckled and turned back, "Sure."

Lee sighed heavily and shook his head as he turned around; part of him was elated by that response. It was something Kazuya definitely would have said in the past if his feelings were hurt. Though at the same time, he felt sick to his stomach. There was his dead older brother standing in the living room, not having aged any since the last time Lee had seen him alive. Between that and Anna, he was wondering if God was playing some kind of twisted joke on him. He shook his head violently at the notion, never had been a believer in God himself and started back to the kitchen.

"Did you know him?" Kazuya asked suddenly. Lee stopped walking and looked over his shoulder.

"Who?" he asked, slowly turning back around, his eyes meeting his brother's.

"Jun's son. Did you know him at all?" Lee shook his head. He then cautiously approached his brother and joined him at his side. The silver-haired man then turned to look at the photos on the mantle himself, his gaze fixated on Jin's graduation picture.

Lee smiled to himself and murmured, "He had your smile." He then glanced over at his brother, whose face had darkened.

"I don't get it," the older man mumbled as he finally turned away, marching off. His voice raised sharply, "I don't fucking get it!"

"Kaz..." Lee cringed and followed his brother into the breakfast room. "I'm not sure what you mean by--"

"--I mean, that kid! Where the hell did he come from!"

"I've been wanting to ask you that for years, but..." Kazuya rolled his eyes and faced his brother. "By the way...where were you?"

"Me?" Kazuya laughed a bit before pulling out a chair from the table in the room. He didn't answer but sat down, placing his hands on the tabletop; his fingers were balled up into tight fists and were trembling. "Where was I..." he repeated, his voice trailing. "Let's see..." The look on his face alarmed Lee; Kazuya's eyes were distant and stormy as he kept his gaze away from his brother. Absentmindedly, he began tapping the table with his right fist; Lee quietly slipped into the seat across from the older man.

"Kaz?" Lee repeated softly.

"You don't want to know."

o.o.o.o.o

He wasn't sure exactly where he was going, but Kazuya sped on the highway that night in his black SUV, nervous. He knew that he shouldn't had left her alone, but he had panicked. Moreso, he wanted to turn back around, yet he didn't and kept driving. On the horizon, he could see the bright city limits; instead of driving towards them, he took an exit and continued to cruise aimlessly, car stereo blaring Wagner as he tried to calm himself. Better yet, he tried to convince himself that he had done nothing wrong; he certainly did not remember even stopping the vehicle and getting out, let alone touching the bitch. He knew better.

What felt like hours, he drove, eventually turning off his music and only listening to the sounds of his engine and the rushing wind. There were few cars on the highway, most of which passed him in the opposite direction towards the city. Whenever headlights flashed at him, he flinched, fearing he would be pulled over. However, nothing happened. Soon, he decided to go home.

He never really considered his apartment in Chicago "home"; though it was definitely a testament to his wealth, well furnished, spacious, and stylish, it never felt like the manor. He wasn't an urban person by any means, constantly annoyed by the noise. Though, he needed to be around the area to keep the family business from collasping. In the two years that he had headed Mishima, the company stock and profits had sky-rocketed. Kazuya was a very gifted businessman, with rationale and business sense that was only rivaled by his father. However, he also had a personal charm about him that Heihachi had lacked. That made getting what he wanted a lot easier; behind the charming smile and soothing voice, Kazuya Mishima was a predator.

He honestly didn't know where that came from. As a child, he never had any friends in school because of his horrible temper. He had terrible luck with relationships on top of that. And tonight, he was certain if anything happened to him, he wouldn't be able to save himself from bad press. He gritted his teeth in anger as that thought came to him. Of course, the first thing he would be worried about was his reputation, not if _she_ was hurt.

Finally, he cruised into the Chicago city limits, and his car slowed as he hit some late night traffic; he actually didn't live in the city itself. His apartment complex was in a suburb a few miles outside of city, but it was usually faster to go through than around at night. His mind switched to blank as he was bombarded with city light, and he reached over to turn on the radio again. He casually flipped through stations until he got a decent alternative rock station and settled on that. As he drove through part of downtown, his driving slowed more; people were coming and going into the bars and clubs. He frowned to himself as he watched a couple come out one of the restaurants; the woman was stumbling, obviously drunk and as her mate tried to help her, she pushed him away violently, nearly falling over herself but managing to keep from tripping as she leaned up against what Kazuya guessed was her car.

He suddenly wanted to call Anna.

It took a few minutes, but when Kazuya finally came to an intersection, he opted to detour and turn; Lee lived in town and was only about fifteen minutes away. He wasn't sure if his brother would even be home and thought about calling the younger man on his cell phone just to make sure. Yet, Kazuya knew Lee wouldn't answer. He continued driving.

The building he came up to was in a older section of the city; the building itself had been a hotel during the 1950s but had been converted into an apartment building. It was surrounded by older, retro homes, many of which were in piss-poor condition much like the apartment building. Why Lee chose to live in such a neighborhood was beyond Kazuya, but he knew it wasn't worth it to ask his brother questions anymore. Lee had become a recluse, though he was often the genius behind much of the research from the technology and development sections of Mishima's medical facilities. Often, the younger Mishima brother didn't bother coming home from work and slept on a cot in his office. Initially, he had seemed excited that he was going to be working with famous minds, such as Viktor Bostonavich. But these days, he was burning himself out with work, and Kazuya knew that his brother was drinking on the job. That bothered the older Mishima a great deal, since Lee had never drank before their father died.

He pulled up and parked in the parking lot behind the building; it was overran with weeds and potholes, though it looked in better condition than the lot of the convenience store across the street. After he shut off the car, he sat quietly, first staring ahead into space then finally turning in his seat and looking up at one of Lee's windows. The lights were on.

Kazuya sighed with relief as he quickly got out his car and hurried over to the building.

The usual riff-raff was there; kids that should had long been in bed playing in the wan-lit stairwell, that same crackhead that Kazuya always saw hanging around the parking lot was sitting inside, huddled up in his soiled windbreaker, a couple of women gossiping in Spanish about the man then about Kazuya as soon as they saw him walk through front entrance. He smiled uneasily, greeted them politely, then started a bit of small talk with them in their language; it was mostly as a friendly warning to let them know that he could understand every word they were saying. Kazuya then made his way up the narrow stairwell to Lee's floor, dodging and stepping over people that were out enjoying the autumn night.

Halfway up, he dug in the inside pocket of the black leather duster he was wearing and pulled out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Just a short year ago, he would have been appalled at the thought of even touching a cigarette and had often expressed his disgust at his brother's smoking habit. But these days, he was a heavier smoker than Lee, and his upstairs trot slowed as he lit his smoke then put away his pack and lighter. When he reached Lee's apartment door, he pulled the cig from his mouth and knocked; he actually had a key to the place, but he had promised himself not use it unless it was an emergency.

The door cracked opened a bit, and Michelle's face lit up before she quickly closed the door to undo the chain and let Kazuya in.

"Just the person I was hoping to see!" she said brightly, opening the door completely, though her words were slurred a bit. The older man smiled acutely and leaned over to hug her then peck her on the cheek. He then pulled away, his hands resting on her shoulders.

As he expected, the younger girl's eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, though he was relieved that she didn't seem completely out of it, and if anything, she was probably just starting to come down. The apartment, however, didn't smell like marijuana, so he knew she had lit up before coming over. That was usually her way of softening the experience of dealing with Lee after he had been drinking, snorting, or both.

He patted Michelleonce on the shoulder before pulling away to take a drag, "How is he?"

"I don't know. He's been in his bedroom since I got here." Michelle moved to the side for Kazuya, stumbling a bit. She caught herself and started giggling, though it almost sounded like a soft sob to Kazuya. She then hastily closed the door and latched it lock, leaning onto the door for support. She was silent then; her back to Kazuya, forehead resting on the door as her shoulders hunched up, as she laughed and wept to herself.

She was shirtless that night, wearing nothing but black sports bra along with her hip-hugger cargos, and barefoot, while her hair was up messily in a clip. Kazuya took another long drag from his smoke, idly studying the curves of her back, his eyes following her spine until they hit the small of her back. Casually, he sat down on the small couch in room and rested his left ankle on his right knee, never taking his eyes off Michelle, who continued sobbing quietly into the door, her cries muffled by her hands. Normally, Kazuya would have consoled her, but tonight he made himself stay put on the couch. His thoughts were wandering too much, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his mind ran wild. His hands wanted wanted to explore the younger girl's body and squeeze that perfect ass of hers. He wanted to fondle her full breasts and run his tongue down the graceful curve of her spine. He thought about how he easily could take her right that moment, just like he had done before.

Kazuya's eyes snapped opened, bewildered and ashamed. He slumped back in his seat, still watching his brother's girlfriend as she trembled and whimpered, reminding him of watching Anna reach her peak. With that thought, he took one last drag then absentmindedly put out his smoke in the ashtray on the sofa table next to the couch before closing his eyes again. He could feel himself getting hard, but he kept his arms up on the back of the couch and his ankle resting on his knee, though the rubbing of his thighs againsthis groinweren't helping any. However, he reminded himself that Michelle was half out of it and wouldn't notice. And he could get up anytime and excuse himself to the bedroom with the lie that he was going to coax Lee out.

He knew he wouldn't get up.

Instead, he listened intently to the girl before him sob. He couldn't even explain why to himself why he liked that sound, or if he ever really did. But he hadn't been thinking straight all night.

She shouldn't had trusted me.

His eyes closed again, and he swallowed hard to silence the groan in his throat. He imagined himself clutching a fistful of Michelle's hair as she kneeled before him, all of his length in her mouth, his teeth clenched over and over again until he arched forward grabbing the sides of the younger girl's head as he pumped furiously, as if he hated her. In his head, he could hear her choking; he loved it, he wanted it.

His thoughts were broken as he felt a hand on his thigh; slowly, he opened his eyes, his body suddenly tensing more as Michelle rested her head his lap, and she went about unzipping his fly and servicing him quietly, much to Kazuya's dismay. Or relief. He wasn't sure; his leg twitched a little.

He climaxed shortly, he clasped the top of her head and gritted his teeth, managing to keep quiet. Then finally, he was awash with calm; he apologetically stroked Michelle's hair as she laid her head back down on his lap. From the back hallway, the sound of a door opening creaked, and eventually his younger brother stumbled into view before leaning over on one of the hallway walls that led out of his bedroom, glassy-eyed and sweat-drenched; he was clad in nothing more than a bathrobe, and his hair hung in messy, grey cords.

Lee was silent for awhile, obviously disoriented, but he finally managed to say, "Did you need something?"

"Yeah," said the older man as he continued to pet Michelle; she kept quiet. "A phone number."

"Whose?"

"Anna's. You know where she's at, right?"

The younger man was silent and turned back around, moving painfully slow back down the little hallway. After what felt like an eternity, he re-emerged, holding a folded slip of paper. He then made his way to his brother and stopped short of him about a foot. He then handed Kazuya the paper before turning away.

"And where are you going?" the older brother asked as he lightly ran his nails across the back of neck of the girl between his legs.

Lee looked over his shoulder, "Back to bed. I'm tired." With that, the silver-haired man shuffled off back down the hallway, ending with the sound of a door opening and latching shut quietly.

Kazuya let out a frustrated sigh then opened up the paper; sure enough, there was a phone number sprawled on there, just legible enough. He pulled away from Michelle, forcing her to sit up on her knees; she was still somewhat dazed as if she had been dreaming.

"I'm sorry," she said looking over her shoulder over at the hallway.

Kazuya stood up and yawned.With his head down as he adjusted himself, he replied,"For what?"

"It's just that... it's weird when you see someone you know in a place this big..." Her voice trailed.

Kazuya stared down at her, mortified.

o.o.o.o.o

"So, is your dad still being an asshole?" Jin asked as he took a long drag from his cigarette.

"I wouldn't know. I don't talk to him," Forest replied; he leaned in to light up his own cig then took a long drag, his body relaxing as it soaked in the nicotine. He and Jin were sitting outside on the tiny back balcony of Jin and Christie's apartment that evening, watching parties starting up, as if they had never ended the night before. Inside, they could hear Grant conversing cheerfully with Christie, their laughter muffled behind the glass backdoor and curtains. "And you. You obviously haven't had your brains blown out, like Jules told everyone."

Forest paused to take another long drag, looking out ahead over the city, "This is where you've been all this time, huh?" His eyes stayed forward.

Jin shook his head, "I've only been here about year. I was in Florida awhile until I got into some trouble there."

"Surprise."

"You're one to talk, fuckwad," Jin glanced over at Forest, a small grin growing across his face. He frowned, however, as he noticed that Forest's face hadn't changed any. He then sighed heavily and looked ahead as well. They both kept silent and listened to the noise around them; laughter, music, distant traffic, and the slight winter breeze that was blowing.

Jin shook his head, "I know what you're thinking--"

"--You have any idea how, Jesus, how fucked up Julia was after that? How fucked up Eddy was? Or Rang and Xiao ? Hell, how fucked up _I_ was?"

"It wasn't like that, I mean...I didn't mean for everything to turn out like that." Jin hung his head for a second then let out a frustrated huff. He lifted his head, "Besides, it's not like she doesn't know I'm okay. It doesn't matter anyway; I'm sure she and Hwoarang are enjoying fucking each other's brains out."

There was a hint of cynicism in Jin's last line, though it was also remorseful.

He continued, "I was scared, Law. I still am."

Forest gritted his teeth, "Of _what_? You got to start over. We didn't--"

"--Before you start preaching that shit on me, do me a favor. Go home and face the fact that your father is a fucking bigot." Jin stood up and turned toward the door. "Until then, you're no better than me." The Mishima then made his way to the backdoor. Before he opened it, he turned and flicked his cigarette from his fingers, sending it sailing over the edge of the balcony. He then slid the door open and slipped inside, leaving Forest to himself.


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

Chapter Twenty-Two

The airport was crowded. Anna bumped into people constantly as she dragged her luggage behind her, politely apologizing with every step she took. She was exhausted from her last flight, almost to the point of being angry. However, she suppressed her irritation as she made her way out towards one of the exits.

She was sure she looked horrible; she had thrown on a pair of red plaid hip huggers and a tight, cut-off white t-shirt with a Sex Pistols logo on it before changing planes in Paris. The chain-link belt she wore was one of the few belongings she still had from before she woke up; it amused her that something like that had come back in fashion, as did the steel-toed boots she was wearing. When she was outside, she pulled her luggage to the side and sat down on the curb, unsure of where to go next.

There were taxis lined up along the airport entrance like a broken train, and briefly she thought of flagging one down and just driving through Brisbane. But, she waited, remembering that her sister was supposed to meet her eventually. Anna sighed to herself; Nina was late. Nina was always late.

The last time Anna had waited for her older sister, she never came.

Anna had sat in her red gown, barefoot in the brisk autumn evening outside the back entrance to the Mishima Corporation's back entrance in the shadows. Her only companion was the knife their father always carried. Now, she always carried it, finally learning what it was that he feared constantly. Learning what it was like not trusting the person that lie next to her every night.

Her Kazuya was gone entirely now. He left one day and never came back. She didn't know the man that she slept next to every night. All she knew _he_ wanted her gone; he never spoke of it aloud, but she felt it. Yes, she was willing to leave, but first she had to take care of something.

She hated how much she loved Kazuya.

Her eyes shifted back and forth as she watched the security cameras, most of which were almost hidden, but she knew the property well enough to know where to look. The back-lot had the fewest cameras and few employees parked there in the evenings. For the most part, the exits were kept sealed through electronic locks, however there was one door that she knew wasn't secured. She looked up towards the second floor; it was a heavy metal door to a fire escape, hard to access from outside but always unlocked. There were no ladders to reach the platform there, and the several other floors above it, the door could be only reached from the inside through the emergency escape routes. She knew there were no cameras or other security devices installed in the emergency areas, aside from the silent alarms that would be tripped from entering them through the main building. From there, however, she could easily bypass those measures, taking a back elevator that the custodians and researchers used at night after most of the workers had left the building.

When she and Kazuya moved to Chicago, he had made Anna promise that she would finish school. Reluctantly, she agreed and took up a bio-chemistry major, since it would ensure her a legit job at Mishima. That resulted in many tours alone with Kazuya and midnight visits with Lee where she watched him work and snort cocaine diligently as she made herself acquainted with what she and many others figured would be her future. Part of her, however, knew that Kazuya also was making sure that his reputation would remain spotless. Most of the people that believed to know him intimately considered Anna to be nothing more than a trophy for Kazuya, or worse still, they thought her to be a gold-digger.

The whispers behind her back didn't bother Anna, but she knew it disturbed Kazuya despite how little he spoke of it. Sometimes, she pondered if that was why he left her behind with _him_.

It didn't matter now as she crept over to the building and stood directly below the metal door, her father's knife in its sheath and tucked safely in the back of her dress. All that mattered was that she did what she promised Kazuya.

__

"Protection," he had said.

And that was exactly what she intended to do.

Tried of waiting for her sister, Anna rubbed her hands and jumped up, grabbing hold of the metal grate floor beneath the door. Quickly, she pulled herself up to the metal platform. After she stood up, she straightened out her satin dress, took a deep breath, then pulled on the door handle; the door inched opened as she used more force, and quietly she slipped inside.

As she expected, there were few people around that night; mostly custodians, whom she managed to avoid pretty easily as she went from floor to floor. She was tempted to go check on Lee, to let him know she was fine, but she went past the medical labs quickly, only hesitating when she was near an area with several cameras and alarm sensors. However, she detoured and found the back elevator for that floor.

His office was on the fifty-seventh floor, which was only a few floors away from being on the top. It actually surprised her how easily she managed to get up there. Part of her was suspicious; it was too easy. However, she reminded herself of the months it took to plan everything and learn, trying to curve the fear she had as she walked carefully down the hall of unlit offices down towards the double doors at the end of the long hallway; underneath it and from its frosted windows, the fluorescent lights seeped out, giving the doors a ghostly halo.

A lump formed in Anna's throat as she gingerly pressed her hands on one of the double doors. She hadn't really thought about what she was going to do and say once she opened the doors. But, everything rested on tonight.

". . .Hold on just a sec, Tracy," he said into his phone as he looked up from the binder he was marking in. He smiled at Anna, "I'll call you back later on tonight." With that, he hung up. The man before her certainly looked and sounded like Kazuya, his jet black hair slicked back and the handsome, lopsided grin on his face. He had the jacket of his black three piece suit off and slung over the back of the leather swivel chair he was sitting in. The sleeves of his white oxford shirt were rolled up to just below his elbows, and his deep red tie loosened, and the neat stacks of papers set on his desk, compulsively organized yet still hastily gone through. It all felt like Kazuya.

However, he said, "I won't ask how you got up here." His grin grew knowingly at her. Coyly, he tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

"You've been expecting me?" she asked carefully as she approached the man behind the desk, never taking her eyes off him.

His grin grew slowly, "Of course." He stood up, "You're amazing, you know that?" Anna stopped about a foot short of the desk. She chuckled a bit condescendingly, placed her hands on her hips, and waited. For what, she wasn't sure.

"I really mean that, dove," he continued quietly. "If everything had worked out differently, I would have been quite pleased with Kazuya's interest in you. But I'm afraid you're just not...what we need at the moment."

"So...you're not him?"

"I think you knew that already." The man's smile softened. "...Heh, the one thing I hate about these human hosts...emotions get in the way of thinking clearly. He's furious at me for having to do this."

Taken back, Anna blinked, "What?"

He came out from behind his desk and sat down on top of the desk in front of Anna. Sadly, he smiled a bit, reaching out and gently placing a hand on her cheek.

"I like you. You're different," he started in a low voice. "Think what you will of me, dove, but I do like you." She pulled away; however, he leaned in closer, brushing his lips against hers.

Anna was petrified at the moment he kissed her. He felt so much like Kazuya, smelled like him, that she began to wonder just how long Kazuya had been gone. What if all those times she and he made love, it wasn't him but this stranger before her? The very concept made her blood turn cold. Shakily, her right hand reached behind her back.

Then she closed her eyes, letting him do whatever he pleased, her hand fiddling quietly with the clasp of the sheath of her knife. His lips moved to her nape, and she let out a shaky sigh, almost losing concentration on what she was doing. However, her fingers finally managed flip open the clasp, and her hand curled around the handle of the knife tucked inside. Her free hand went to his cheek, and she forced him to look up at her before finally returning his kisses passionately. He only pulled away to smile, a combination of genuine relief and slyness then closed his eyes and nipped her lips softly.

"Get AWAY from me!"

It all happened too fast for Anna. Normally, any situation like this, she would had gladly taken her time, like she had when taken care of that Emil, the bastard that was going to take Nina away from her in every sense of the word. Yet at that moment, she was so disgusted with this man and with herself that she wasn't thinking clearly. She jumped back and looked forward at him as he hunched over, covering his face with his hand, blood trickling over his fingers. Part of her was frightened; it looked and sounded like her Kazuya heaving angrily in front her. However, she dropped into a defensive stance, knife out to protect herself.

He looked up, his eyes glowing red like embers. Anna gasped, stumbling back; she knew then that she had gotten in too deep.

"I see," he said quietly, straightening up; his fingers still rested lightly on his bloodied cheek. Slowly, he dropped his hands to his sides, his eyes burning. His forehead cracked opened, revealing a third eye that glared menacingly at the woman before him. Anna's eyes widened, and she dropped her knife to cover her mouth.

As he stepped towards her, two wings sprouted from his back, magnificent, dark leathery wings that expanded the entire length of the large office. They knocked over the desk with the sheer force from shooting out of the man's back. Anna inched back until her back was pressed up against the double doors. Without taking her eyes off the demon in front of her, she tried the knob; it didn't budge.

"Frightened, dove?" he asked; his voice sounded like a chorus of wailing children. It hurt to listen to. He then extended a clawed hand, gingerly running a nail across her cheek. She wanted to scream, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

The only thought that came to her mind was, _"Nina, where are you?"_

"Anya?" Anna shook her head violently and looked up. There was her sister, Nina, dressed in black dress suit with the bodice of her blazer partially opened and revealing her violet lace corset and cleavage. She had a black scarf wrapped around her hair and neck, and there were stylish dark glasses on her face. She smiled down at her sister, a cross between amusement and cockiness. "Daydreaming again?"

"Oh, sorry," the younger girl said as she stood up quickly; Anna then stooped over to grab her bags. "You're late."

"My apologies," the blonde replied as she turned her back to lead her sister to their ride. "I'm delighted you came down."

Anna frowned as she dragged her luggage behind her, "I'm sure you are. What exactly am I doing here?" They stopped in front of a black SUV limousine; the chauffer hopped out and opened the doors then took Anna's bag to place them in the trunk.

Nina smiled to herself, "We're looking for someone." She then turned and gestured for the younger woman to get into the limo. Anna did what she was told and quickly got in; Nina followed and sat across from the redhead.

"Dare I ask who?"

As the chauffer closed the door on them, Nina asked, "Champagne?" Anna shook her head in response. The older woman shrugged and leaned over, helping herself to the chilled bottle and glasses that had been set out for them. The driver then got in the car, and Nina promptly rolled up the sound-proof glass partition between the back and front seats.

"Nina--"

"--I'm sure you've heard of him," the blonde began before taking a sip of her drink. "This is pretty high profile."

"I would think so, for thirty million dollars."

Nina's grin grew and she cleared her throat, "Yes, his name. Steven Fox. He's a professional boxer."

Anna blinked, "...Didn't he just win the world championship?"

"Yes, and he wasn't supposed to. Our job is to find him and bring him to Tracy Freedman. Mr. Freedman made it quite clear that he doesn't care if Mr. Fox is in one piece."

"He's a child!"

The blonde nodded, "Well, yes. That bothers me. And the part that bothers me more is that we're essentially trying to fix a grave mistake Mr. Freedman made with Heihachi Mishima's finances."

Anna rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "What else is new? He obviously hasn't changed in twenty years." That comment made Nina chuckled, and she reached over and plucked up the other glass to pour her sister a drink.

"This will calm your nerves," she said brightly. She then handed her younger sister the glass. "Anyway, our time frame is rather short; we have two weeks before Heihachi flies back from wherever he is. The other men that Mr. Freedmen hired blotched my hit, and I can't find Fox anywhere. I'm almost afraid he fled the country. But, I think with the two of us working together--" Nina leaned back and took another sip of champagne, "--We should be able to find him."

She continued, "By the way, love, do you still talk to that Lee Chaolan?"

"Sometimes," Anna replied softly. "Why do you ask?"

"I think I remember him being quite the computer whiz. We might need his help."

"I doubt he'll help you drain his father's resources, Nina."

Nina chuckled, "He won't help me, but he'll help _you_. He was always fawning over you, and _you_ chose his bastard brother. And you have the nerve to call me cold. Cheers." With that she toasted Anna, who was too shocked at her sister's comment to respond.

**  


. . . . .

  
**

Lee spent most that afternoon going through file cabinets and checking old data cds. He had already gone through half a pot of coffee, refraining from smoking at all so far; though the withdrawal headache was telling him that was a huge mistake. He was hitting that point where he wasn't even looking anymore, just going through the motions.

He hadn't been able to get a hold of Anna at all, and then he hated leaving his brother behind. Lee hadn't told Kazuya exactly why he had to go in today. Part of him was infuriated with Kazuya, knowing that he had something to do with Anna's predicament. However, he was hardly thinking of that as he flipped through folders half out of it.

"Mr. Lee?" a receptionist asked, poking her head through the door. "There's a call for you on line one." Lee glanced up and nodded to acknowledge her. He then placed the folder he had been skimming through back into its drawer and shut the file cabinet close. Sluggishly, he went over to the nearest desk and picked up the phone, pressing down on the flashing line button.

"Chaolan?" Heihachi asked into the phone.

"Hi, Dad," Lee replied, yawning.

"You haven't found anything yet, have you?"

"Not a thing."

"I was going say...you're probably going to have to go through the archives from the Chicago branch to find most of Kazuya's projects. I'll have to call Tracy and let him know that you've been granted access to our intranet databases."

Lee frowned, "I still can't believe you're letting him head Chicago."

"Well," the elderly man chuckled, "had you decided to stay with the company, I could've retired and let you head everything. Besides, I need you to do a favor for me, since you're there."

"Which is?"

"I believe Tracy has been extorting money from us. He's pretty good about covering his tracks, so I've never trusted him. Not since that bullshit with Emil Ricter."

The younger Mishima sighed heavily, "I told you, you should've fired him from the start--"

"--You know I couldn't do that. He knows too much." Lee was silent at that response, and he scratched his cheek while twisting his mouth to the side.

Finally, Lee asked, "Dad...are you sure you had Kaz cremated?"

There was a bit of uneasy silence before Heihachi replied, "Yes, you know that. And where is this coming from all of the sudden?"

Lee hesitated, "It's nothing."

"Are you sure? You sound like you don't believe me."

"No, Dad, I believe you."

"Okay, then. I need to go. Take care."

Lee sighed heavily, "Bye," and he hung up. For a few moments, he stood staring down at the phone, his hands on his hips. He then clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue and turned around. He couldn't go without any more nicotine, and it was going to be a long day.

**  


. . . . .

  
**

They were still scavenging through rubble that afternoon; the remains of the institution were blackened, still dripping wet from the firefight that had taken place the night before. Heihachi Mishima flipped closed his cellphone as he was approached then tucked it within his blazer pocket.

"Well?" he said to the young soldier.

The young man shook his head, "We managed to get out all of the patients and had them transferred to other wards, places where they could really get help. But..."

"The girl's still missing."

"Right," the soldier said hanging his head. "And she killed one of the orderlies on her way out. No one else was hurt, thank god." Heihachi nodded solemnly in agreement at the younger man. There was low crash, and both men looked over at the burnt out building. The inside structure was starting to collapse in on itself, and several soldiers and firefighters jogged away to let the building fall in.

The young man frowned, "And there's something else, sir."  
"What?"

"One of the head researchers from G-Tech has flown in. She says she has information that you'll want about both of the missing wards."

Heihachi's frowned deepened, "Alright. Did she leave a way for me to contact her?"

"All she said that she'd get in touch with you."

After that, the soldier turned his head as he heard orders being shouted from one of his superiors. Quickly, he saluted Heihachi then scurried off towards his unit. Heihachi watched as the soldiers lined up and stood at attention, listening to the barking from their leader. He then looked toward the slowly crumbling building and blinked. Carefully, he approached the building, stumbling over burnt wood and medical equipment. He then squatted down, sifting carefully through the soot until he frowned and plucked up what had caught his eye.

It was his photo of Jin, completely undamaged.


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Thank you," she said quietly, taking a sip of the hot coffee that was just handed to her.

It was bright that afternoon, almost blinding, and white hot sunlight burned through the café's windows. She was the only customer; outside there were few people out, probably due to the dry heat, and mixed with the dusty air was the smell of burning.

The woman herself was ordinary looking, long black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, bags underneath her dark eyes. She was wearing a grey, oversized hoodie over what seemed to be a short white dress and a pair of dirty old sneakers. The dress was immaculately clean, however, almost as blinding as the sunlight.

"You going anywhere in particular?" the cashier asked after handing the woman her beverage.

She nodded, "I'm looking for my baby. I think he's with his father."

"Where's that?"

"Home." The young man blinked at his customer and her vague answer. She, however, looked out into space, sipping her coffee slowly.

The woman began again, "I looked in the mirror this morning, and I didn't recognize myself." She looked down at her reflection in her cup, "I...I still don't know who I'm looking at."

**  


o.o.o.o.o

  
**

". . .You heard me," Dr. Donna Madison said coolly, crossing her arms. She glared at Agent Drake and tapped her foot.

Drake frowned, "That is ridiculous! We need this done as ASAP, so we can start ballistics--"

"--I have one other _recent_ autopsy I have to finish this afternoon. I've already told you, I'll start on Mr. Kazama tonight. And--" she uncrossed her arms and leaned into the fed pointing her finger at his chest, "--The last thing I need is for you two to be right under my nose while I'm trying to work. I'll get you your results tomorrow afternoon. _Maybe_." Madison then glanced over at Lei, who cringed a bit at the woman's stern look. "You're lucky I'm doing this, Jay. I should turn you in."

Madison herself was a plain looking woman in her mid-forties, dirty blonde hair cut in a neat bob and deep frown lines that parenthesized her thin lips. She was dressed comfortably in a grey t-shirt and jeans. Her white lab coat was slung over her other arm, while a pair of old sneakers hung on her shoulder by the shoelaces.

"Fine, FINE!" Drake roared throwing up his arms, sending spittle into the woman's face. She flinched a little, pulling back her arms to fold her coat over her stomach. However, Madison still glared fiercely at the fed, standing her ground.

"You can go anytime now," she added quietly, still glaring.

Drake let out a frustrated huff and turned to Lei, "She needs to do her job. Let's go." The detective nodded once, twisting his mouth up to the side after watching the brutal exchange. He then turned and nodded out of respect to the doctor. Both men started to leave.

"Wait, you're Wulong Lei, right?" Madison called after them.

Lei stopped and turned around, "Yes?"

Her frown deepened, "I have something for you--" She then turned and eyed Drake, "--If Agent Drake doesn't mind waiting outside for a couple minutes. It's in my office."

"Don't want me tagging along?" the fed asked steadily, trying his best to keep a stoic face, though it was obvious that he was still fuming.

The doctor let out a chuckle, "This wasn't sent for you, Jay. Just go wait outside in your government-issued Pinto. I promise I won't keep him long." She then nodded at Lei and gestured for him to follow her.

The building itself was a standard police station; bland, cubicles all over, cops and detectives doing paperwork that morning. Lei and Madison passed quite a few workers on call waiting to be alerted, despite how slow it was. The detective sighed; they were still young and hadn't become disillusioned yet. He wasn't sure if he pitied the younger cops or if he envied them. They then left the office area and headed down a hallway with the special units and state bureau offices.

As she led him down the hallway Madison spoke softly, "Just as a word of warning, watch your back."

Lei blinked, "Huh?"

"Don't trust Jay. His own unit doesn't even trust him." Finally they reached a small office near the crime lab. Madison dug in her pocket until she found her keys, fiddled with them a bit, then unlocked the door.

"The two of you go back, huh?"

She shrugged as she pushed open the door, "Something like that." She moved to the side to let Lei enter; the doctor's office was filled with boxes, some closed, some half packed. As she entered herself, she added, "It's more like I've had the misfortune of working with this guy for years."

She hesitated then finished, "…And so did Bryan."

"You knew Bryan?"

She ignored the detective's question and asked, "Did you get the letter I sent?"

"Oh!" Lei shoved his hand into his blazer pocket and fished around, his keys jiggling until he pulled out the small, unmarked envelope.

Madison smirked, "Didn't even open it, eh?"

"Well…I just forgot. I've been doing so much backtracking--"

"--Don't worry about it. You and I both know Jay isn't going to find Kazama. Jay knows it too." She then crossed her arms, "Open it." The detective did what he was told, blinked, and pulled out the small key that had been sealed inside.

"What's this?"

"It's a safe deposit key." The doctor moved over to behind her desk, cleaned off the papers that had been sitting in her chair, and sat down. "There's a bank in outside of Miami where that keys belongs. I meant to give you the address and all when I sent that off, but I wasn't sure when you'd get a chance to look."

Lei frowned, "What's the deal?"

"Did Jay ever tell you how Agent Fury died?"

"Yeah…botched arms deal. Bryan got caught in the crossfire, sounds like."

Madison hung her head at Lei's response. She was silent for a moment before lifting her head again, her eyes watering. She covered her mouth with her hand pensively; the look on her face was far off and stormy.

Quietly, she pulled her hand from her face and responded, "That's the official story the Bureau went with. It's not the truth, though."

**  


o.o.o.o.o

  
**

"You should really come with us, Christina," Grant cackled. "It'd be a blast!"

"We're not _taking_ this trip for fun," Forest mumbled under his breath. Christie and Jin's apartment reeked of marijuana and cigarettes. It actually was only a few hours before their guests would be leaving for the airport. Though the sun was setting, the lights hadn't be turned on at all that day and the blinds opened wide, letting in the bronze light from outside dimly light the living room. They all sat on floor in a circle in front of the tiny couch in the pad. Derrick was half asleep, not used to smoking as much as the others and was practically stretched out on Forest. The American had tried pushing the other man off of him several times, but by that point, he had given up, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Christie giggled, "And what would I do there?"

"You could hang with us. It's not like you have any obligations here," Grant added, his voice suddenly turning from playful to a stern curiosity. He then glanced over at Jin, who despite having his eyes half-closed seemed to be staring pensively at the bookie, "Right?"

"I can't leave Jaime here by himself!" the younger girl protested, almost not able to finish her sentence from laughing so hard.

"Or," Derrick butted in, lifting his head off Forest's shoulder, "he could come too." He pulled himself off the American, struggling a bit to sit up straight. "To be honest, if those guys found out where Law lived, they can find Christina and Jaime. It's really not fair to dump our problems on them without offering, right?"

He then turned to Jin, "How's that?"

Jin skewed his mouth to the side, "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Oh, come on!" Grant cackled. "I remember Christina saying she wanted to go to the U.S. to find that friend of hers. And you, I'm sure you could find something to do with yourself." He then laid his head back on the front of the couch. "A couple of hookers, maybe some gambling, some fly-fishing--"

"--I said no." Grant lifted his head a bit to stare at Jin. Jin's face was drawn down in a tight frown; however he stared at Grant calmly, as if he was silently threatening the other man.

"Why not, _Jaime_?" Forest asked, "Really, we're doing you a favor. You could go see your family and friends again. I bet they're just _dying_ to see you again."

Jin glared at Forest, "Asshole."

Grant sat up completely, "That's uncalled for. He's just agreeing with Derrick and me--"

"--And I said no." Jin stood up. "You know, I don't have to take this shit, especially in my own home."

"And what do you have to be afraid of?" Forest asked coolly as he stood up as well. The room became silent then, all eyes on the two young men. Christie's eyes widened and she glanced over at Grant, who, like her, stared wide-eyed at Jin and Forest. The girl then looked back at Jin, still in shock over his reaction to the other man.

Forest repeated himself, "I said, what do you have to be afraid of?"

"Guys, it was just a suggestion," Derrick pulled himself sluggishly to the couch. "If Jaime doesn't want to go, he doesn't want to go." He then turned slowly towards Forest, "Law, no need to speak to him like that. He said no and was polite about it."

"No, no," Forest insisted, "I think Christie deserves an explanation why _he_ doesn't want to go back to the U.S. I mean, Jaime's obviously hiding something."

Grant lifted a brow, turned to Christie, and whispered, "I didn't get all that from him. Maybe just...not wanting to leave because it's inconvenient..." She nodded once weakly, still keeping her eyes on Jin.

Grant then turned towards Jin and added "Hey, Forest, lay off," raising his voice playfully. However, Jin shook his head and marched off down the hallway. There was loud slam from his bedroom door. And the four were all silent.

Forest crossed his arms, still eyeing the hallway.

Christie stood up abruptly, "I should go talk to him--"

"--No, let him pout," he said sharply.

"Actually, Law, I think you should go apologize. After Christina talks him out," Derrick retorted softly as he laid his head back on the couch. He then made a shooing gesture. "Go on, you two. This may take awhile. He was pissed."

Christie frowned and made her way towards the hall. As she passed Forest, she grabbed his arm and dragged him along.

**  


o.o.o.o.o

  
**

The house was empty again. That was something Jin hated every morning, but he dealt with it. He had been so used to spending the mornings with his mother until before they had moved and she took up that new job. He still didn't know exactly what it was she did now, but when she came home in the evenings, she took her medication and passed out on the couch in the tiny living room, usually not waking up again until morning.

It would be a couple hours before his tutor showed up. His mother wouldn't let him go to a public school. It never really bothered him when they lived out in rural Japan, isolated when it was just him and her. Now that he was thirteen, seeing other children running about on his street made him almost resent the fact. He didn't bother mentioning it to his mother though. It took a lot to wake her up in the evenings, and when he managed to do so, she was irate and incoherent. So, he knew to let her be.

He carefully shuffled over to his bedroom door, slipping his feet into his house shoes, then continuing his shuffle down the hall to the kitchen to make himself a bowl of rice and vegetables for breakfast. He wasn't sure if there were still even vegetables; he couldn't remember the last time he had gone out to the marketplace. Usually, he did end up having to be the one to buy food, ravaging his mother's room to find money to do so. She didn't go buy food anymore, and it was something that she remembered her meds and alcohol. Again, it was something he never thought about when he was younger, but now he was seeing that was something wrong. However, he had long decided that was little, if not, nothing he could do about it. No one knew he existed, no one cared that he existed, and his mother kept it that way.

As he dreaded, there were no vegetables, little rice, and only a tiny bit of cut beef that probably needed to be thrown out. He made a face as he picked up the near-empty sack of rice from the cupboard then made his way to the counter to place a bit in the steamer. Already, he was making plans to go out and get food after his tutor left. It would require that he'd have to wait until after his mother made it back, if only to go through her purse.

Jin watched television in their living room as he ate his breakfast. There was nothing on except a few low-budget dramas and on the one foreign channel they got, some BBC programming in English. That was usually what he was doing when his tutor came, just watching the world news.

The woman would often blink in wonder at him and ask in Japanese, "Do you even _understand_ what it is you're watching?" He wouldn't reply but just turned off the t.v. instead. He knew his mother hadn't informed the lady that they were immigrants. He spoke and read English fine enough, something his mother had taught him on her own time when he was little, making him read over letters his American grandfather sent with the child-support payments. There were plenty of English language books and novels in his bedroom that he read in his free time. In fact, the novel he was reading now was _Treasure Island_, a book that he had read and re-read many times. He liked stories about escaping, about travel to exotic places, and the likes.

He also reread a lot of the letters from his grandfather. Jin had never met the man in person and suspected he never would. There were no photographs of his grandfather included or any other photos of his father's family. Most of the time, the letters were straightforward and actually addressed to his mother, requesting receipts of how the money sent was used. Though, every November, Jin would get a friendly-toned letter wishing him a happy birthday and a gift, usually a book or sometimes an extra check. He enjoyed that much more than the wad of yen that his mother handed him hastily before she hurried out to work.

The news was boring this morning, and Jin yawned before shoving his chopsticks into his mouth again. It was mostly stories following the stock market in North America. He saw that Mishima came up quite a few times as one of the companies doing well in the economic slump over there. It made him idly wonder if his grandfather had anything to do with them; Jin honestly knew next-to-nothing about his father's family.

He didn't even know his father's first name.

He blinked as he heard the front door open, and jumped up from where he was seated on the floor to switch off the television. His tutor was early.

Only, it wasn't his tutor; it was his mother. Jun Kazama marched into the little home, practically throwing off her shoes at the door, and hurried past her son into her bedroom. Jin blinked then strained to listen; he could her cursing underneath her breath and rustling of papers, and then finally the slam of her bedroom door as she emerged, looking very upset.

She was a very plain looking woman, tall and waif, with her black hair combed out of her face and behind a red headband that matched the tie she was wearing with her navy dress suit. Her cheeks were flushed, which Jin figured was because the vodka she drank that morning hadn't gotten out of her system yet. Yet, she seemed to be carrying herself fine that morning as she hurried over to the phone, holding several papers.

Jin could only watch, and did so quietly as he finished his breakfast. She dialed quickly and began speaking calmly to what he deduced was an operator, and this went on for several minutes until his mother was silent, her foot tapping impatiently.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, Jun growled into the phone in English, "Heihachi, it's too soon. Too soon!"

She was silent again as she listened, then responded, "You said that-- No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just, I think it's better that he didn't know. Of course I've told him about you--What am I supposed to tell Jin about _him_?" Jun glanced up and looked over at her son. Her eyes drooped as she listened again.

"I'm sorry, it's just too soon," she then said hastily and hung up.

She then turned to her son and addressed him in Japanese, "I took the rest of the day off. Did you want to go out?"

Jin responded, "We need groceries."

"Then we'll go grocery shopping."

"What about my daily lessons?"

"I've already called Abe-sensei from work. She's not coming today."

Jin's eyes dropped, "I see."

Jun seemed oblivious to her son's disappointment as she walked past him, patting him once on the shoulder before stating, "We both need to freshen up before we go. Sound good?"

He nodded once reluctantly.

There were fewer people out than Jin expected, since he had never been to the marketplace that early. However, he searched in wonder at all the food stands, larger and fresher foods than he had ever been able to find on his own. His mother walked briskly through the district, occasionally stopping to bow and chat quickly yet amiably to some of the shopkeepers as she carefully selected items to purchase. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and she looked even thinner in the striped pink tanktop and denim capris she had changed into. As he watched Jun, Jin wondered if that was how she functioned at work. Hiding her clouded eyes and the fake smiles.

He couldn't understand how anyone could live that way. Then again, he never did understand his mother.

He stayed close to her as they stepped onto the crowded commuter train, gripping her hand. He hadn't held her hand since he was a toddler, and aside from anxiety, he felt nothing towards her. No affection or happiness, just ill-ease. They said nothing to each other as they watched the world pass by from beyond the train's windows, a world switching from the crowded suburbia to the empty countryside and suburbia again as if was a film being rewound and fast-forwarded over and over again.

As they walked from the train station to their neighborhood holding their bags, Jun asked softly, "Jin?"

He looked over to acknowledge her.

"Would you want to spend a summer with Grandfather Mishima?"

His eyes brightened and he stopped walked, "I'd love to!"

"Good. You may have to." She was silent after that, continuing her walk towards their home, which was still several blocks away. Jin blinked then jogged to catch up with her, struggle a bit with the grocery bags he was holding as he scurried up to her. The schools were just starting to let out; he watched as a group of kindergarteners were being lead by their teacher across the street, each one of the little children in bright yellow sunhats and walking as obediently as a group of five-year olds could. It was like watching a procession of ducklings waddle by, as a child strayed occasionally fascinated with things like the sunlight streaming through the trees or the small cars that cruised by carefully. The older children and teenagers skipped by gossiping with friends, some walking their bikes and already half out of their uniforms.

"Is something wrong, Mama?" he asked when he finally caught up with his mother. She was still quiet and continued to walk forward; their small home was in view now, and their neighborhood was filled with life. Jin watched in wonder, almost overwhelmed with it all, until the front door opened, and he was hurried inside by his mother.

She cooked that evening. Jin couldn't remember the last time Jun had cooked something for him. She didn't eat much herself, a screwdriver by her side with way more vodka than orange juice as she chopped and grilled vegetables. Everything was cut expertly, as if she had hadn't stopped being a mother.

They ate their dinner without speaking. Underneath her breath, however, Jun sang. It was fierce and malicious, despite the loving lyrics; something that should have been a gentle lullaby, something Jin remembered his mother singing to him when he was younger as she rocked him with apathy. Irritated, he watched her across the dinner table; her food untouched, and he listened. The singing never stopped, and she never looked up at her son.

"God, STOP IT!" he finally cried as he shot up from his seat. His hands were balled up into tight fists and trembled.

Her soft murmuring continued.

Jin covered his ears and screamed, "STOP IT! STOP IT!" over and over again, tears rolling down his cheeks as his mother sang to him until he finally rushed over to her and grabbed her shoulders and began shaking her aggressively.

"STOP IT!" he screamed.

She finally looked up, "...Don't touch me."

He pulled back, startled.

"Don't touch me," she repeated steadily, standing up slowly.

"I...I'm sorry, Mama--"

"--DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screeched, her voice resonating with fear and anger. The older woman hugged herself then hunched over, sobbing. "...Don't touch me."

Jin hesitated but reached out, "Mama--" She recoiled back violently, head still down as she wept to herself.

He tried reading for the rest of the night. However, he was distracted, constantly glancing over at his bedroom door. Outside of his room it was dead silent and dark; bothered, Jin carefully marked his spot in his book and got out of bed, creeping over to his door. Cautiously, he opened it to peek his head through.

The only light that was on from the bathroom; it spilt out from underneath the closed door, contaminating the otherwise perfectly dark hallway. Jin shook his head and sighed heavily; his mother was still in there. She had been for hours, locking herself after fleeing from him at dinner. Normally, he wouldn't have thought much of it, but it was the look in her eyes. After the color had drained away from her face, she dashed away as if she had seen a ghost.

Jin reluctantly slipped through his cracked door and crept down the hallway to the bathroom. When he reached the door, he gently tried the knob; still locked. Without any hesitation, he headed to the kitchen, hastily searched through a drawer in there until he found an awl, and then made his way back to the bathroom. Quickly and expertly, he messed with the lock until it popped open, and then carefully opened the door.

His mother was sprawled out on the bathroom floor asleep, her dark hair strewn all over the white tile floor. Beside her, the bottle of her prescription pills was lying, its contents spilt over the floor. Jin squatted to eye his mother better; every breath she took seemed to be a struggle, her mouth half opened as she took shallow breaths. But she was peaceful, and that made Jin relax. He left the room for a moment, reemerging with the blanket from his bed, and he placed it over Jun. Then he sat across from her, drawing his knees up to his chest as he watched her into the morning.

**  


o.o.o.o.o

  
**

Christie knocked on the door softly, "Jaime?"

No response.

"He's not going to answer," Forest sighed, crossing his arms.

Her frown deepened and she turned to Forest, "You should really be the one to do this. Exactly, what was that all about?"

"Let's just say...I don't like liars."

She blinked once then stammered, "I'm not sure what you mean--"

"--He's not who he says he is."

"I know. He already told me." She turned back and started knocking again. "Jaime, everyone's sorry. We'll take them to the airport in a few minutes--if you want--and it'll be all over. Jaime?"

Silence.

Forest rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. "Let me try."

"No," Christie said as she lifted a brow. "Your mouth got you into this. The last thing any of you guys need is make him even madder. He's the one with the car, remember?"

"Just let me try once. I bet I can get him to come out." She sighed heavily and moved to the side, hugging herself with skepticism. She started tapping her foot, brow still raised.

Forest knocked once, "Kazama?"

"Kazama?" Christie uncrossed her arms slowly, confused.

"I know you can fucking hear me. You're the asshole, you know?" He turned around and pressed his back to the door. "You left once, had everyone all worried, and now you don't want to go fix that. Fucking selfish." His voice cracked; slowly he slid down on the floor.

The door cracked then opened slowly, and Jin appeared. He was, however, silent staring straight at Christie.

He then looked down at the other boy, "I've said everything I'm going to say to you."

"She stopped sleeping at night," said Forest, his voice breaking up from trying to hold back tears. He however still looked forward, his hands folded over his stomach as he leaned over his knees.

Jin rolled his eyes and started close his door, yet the other boy continued, "I don't know if Rang knows about it since he left town right after the funeral, but she stopped sleeping, stopped eating, stopped talking. Her mother was going to have her institutionalized. She's still not entirely better. I don't know who she is anymore. And it's your fault." He looked up, "It's all your fault."

Jin rested his forehead on the door, not able to bring himself to slam it shut as much as he wanted to. His hand trembled as it gripped the edge of the door. He wanted to punch something, but at the same time his eyes felt heavy, unable to look up at Christie; his body refused to move. He could feel patches of heat all over his body, the places where the black thorns and lightning often appeared, on his chest and arms. His back. His back ached just below the shoulders. That prompted him to finally move, quickly latching his door shut without another word.

That was when he felt feverish and flopped back first onto his bed, his eyes finally closing.

And he saw that first snowfall from seven years ago, his mother lying next to him in the street. Her lifeless eyes staring back at him from beneath the feathery wisps of her hair and snow, so beautiful and peaceful; it was the first time he could admit that he truly loved her, and he whispered it.

"I love you, Mama."

He didn't notice then the odd angle of her neck as he lovingly smiled at her and reached out to touch her cold cheek before closing his eyes to finally rest.


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

Chapter Twenty-Four

Just nine more hours. Nine more hours, and he could start thinking clearly again. Steve rested his head back on his seat, his eyes heavy. However, he was finding it hard to rest; he still was anxious about leaving his family and Smart, and his left arm was bothering him a great deal. The skin around his scarring was being overly sensitive, apparently not taking well to the sudden shift in the weather and humidity outside after finally changing hemispheres.

He had a window seat that day; he liked the window seats. Usually, he could drift off watching the plane rise above the clouds, imagining that he was being taken up to heaven to be amongst the minds he admired most: Friedrich Nietzsche, Socrates, Hunter S. Thompson, and so on. He wanted to speak to anyone that could look at mankind from a distance.

The sun was starting to appear again, and the voice of the captain came over the intercom, speaking quickly in French. Steve made a face; he could only pick out a few words but managed to deduce that it would only be a couple hours before the plane landed to refuel. With that, he leaned back in his seat, gaze fixated on the endless plane of clouds; below, he could see splashes of lightning, indicating they were flying high above a storm.

As he nervously rubbed his arm, Steve prayed silently that wouldn't delay his plans any.

o.o.o.o.o

"What did she tell you?" Drake asked as he drove; Lei shifted some in his seat, straightening up. His hand was in his pocket, gripping the small key so tightly that his palm sweated.

The detective frowned some, "I'm not really at liberty to say. It was personal."

"Heh, I'm sure she told you not to trust me. Donna's always been paranoid like that. She practically smothered Agent Fury all the time. It was sickening."

"She didn't mention anything about Bryan," Lei shrugged; he then glanced over at the other man. "Mostly, she's as confused as I am about why this investigation is going on. I could tell you right now: Jin Kazama died of a fatal gunshot wound to the head after being shot by several semi-automatic weapons; there were plenty of witnesses, myself included. The party was unknown, but most likely some enemies of his grandfather. Same thing happened to Kazama's father--"

"--Heihachi Mishima killed that boy and his father, and you know it."

"Heihachi was standing right next to me, and I promise you, he wasn't holding an AK-47."

Drake frowned as he pulled up to a red light, "Why are you so insistent in defending that _murderer_?"

Lei was quiet for a moment, and turned to look out his window. At that point, he couldn't wait to get back to his own vehicle and go back to Paul's; the vinyl seats in Drake's car still were annoyingly hot and sticky, even with the air going and the windows opened.

Finally, he replied, "I believe in justice, but I don't believe in something that makes a farce out of the justice system." The car started moving again.

The world outside of the car seemed perfect; children playing outside in the fire hydrants, old men sitting out on their porches laughing and throwing down beers, cars passing by with their stereos blasting, sometimes R&B, sometimes country. The bright sunlight outside made everything faded and antique, like an old photograph. Lei smiled sadly to himself, always finding that he as much as he loved New York, he always enjoyed the scenery in Dreyfus. He then wondered if Jun had ever missed that after she left, if she missed New York after she disappeared, if she missed him at all.

"Detective?"

Lei snapped back to reality, "Huh?"

Drake pulled up slowly into the parking lot of Paul's garage, "This is the place you wanted to be dropped off at?"

Lei nodded once stiffly as Drake put the car in park, and the detective finally let go of the key in his pocket and pulled his hand out to shake the fed's, as to thank him for the ride.

o.o.o.o.o

Breakfast tasted bland. Hwoarang wasn't sure if it was just him or what, but he didn't complain as he ate silently, discreetly watching the two women he dined with; Michelle sipped quietly on tea while reading the paper, while Julia kept her head down, poking at her cold eggs though never putting anything in her mouth. He then began to wonder if this was how he was going to spend the rest of his life.

That morning he woke up feeling uncertain. It was a different kind of vagueness than what he had been subjected to his entire life. Instead of his usual frustration, there was an odd emptiness, like the last chapter of a novel had been ripped out, never to be read. Despite the fact that he had slept next to another warm body, something didn't feel right. He still didn't feel complete, and he was starting to question Julia's intentions. Part of him was content with the notion that he never had to go back to his parents, but he didn't want her pity.

And he certainly didn't want pity that he knew actually belonged to Jin Kazama.

Michelle placed down her cup and stood, "Well, I'm off to work." Quickly, she gathered her dishes to take to the kitchen, her paper folded underneath her arm as she scurried over to the sink. When she reemerged, she patted Julia once on the head, smiled over at Hwoarang as a goodbye, then grabbed her keys off the table as she trotted over to the front door.

When she heard the front door shut, Julia finally lifted her head. For a moment, it looked like she was going to say something to him, her eyes longing to break the silence, but she then quickly adverted her eyes back to her food.

He spoke first, "So, he told you he loved you."

"He didn't mean it," she replied softly, head still down.

"So what did he mean?"

"I don't know."

"Right..."

Julia looked up, "Actually, Rang, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for awhile."

"Changing the subject, huh?" he chuckled, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"No, please. All I ask is that you listen." She shifted a bit in her seat, straightening up and looking Hwoarang in the eye. He frowned at her, leaning back in his seat as folded his hands over his abdomen. The older boy then lifted a hand and gestured cynically for Julia to begin.

As much as he wanted to hear what she had to say, he knew he'd regret it

o.o.o.o.o

She had stopping sleeping at night.

Every night since that night, she sat perched by her window waiting, afraid that if she closed her eyes, she'd miss him. He never came, however.

The devil talked to her on those nights. He was a handsome fellow who looked like an older version of her Jin: tall, dark-skinned, ebony hair slicked out of his dark eyes, and a playful smirk across his face just like her Jin. Instead of a tattoo on his arm, though, the devil had a massive scar across his chest; some nights, she could see it beneath his white-collared shirt, the half the buttons undone revealing his chiseled figure, the legs to his khaki cargo pants rolled up, his feet bare. He would sit outside her window and speak amiably to her about the weather, he always asked her about school, about her friends.

And about her mother. He seemed to adore her mother.

In the mornings, when the sound of her mother tiptoeing down the hallway to wake her, he would lean inside the window and kiss her softly on the lips, sometimes once, sometimes twice, always just like Jin had done. But he wasn't Jin.

She didn't know where Jin was. Her mother told her that Jin was dead. Jin's grandfather had said the same thing, and so did Detective Lei and Agent Fury. They all told her that Jin was dead.

The devil was dead, too. She had seen the photos her mother had tried to keep hidden. Old, faded photographs of her mother standing with the devil's arm around her shoulder that were kept in the same dirty trunk her mother kept her wedding dress. She had even seen his grave, which was hidden on the Mishima estate near edges of the cliffs. Jin had taken her out there once, and they sat for hours not speaking, just looking out at the desolate wasteland beneath the cliffs. Hollowed endless pits of rock, eroded away millions of years ago from long dead rivers and never-to-return rains. Skeletons of trees reached up towards the blank, hot sky with one last desperate prayer that was left unanswered. And she shivered a bit when his hand touched hers, slithering up her arm until it rested on her shoulder, and his teeth were nipping at her neck.

That was the first time they had made love. It was with the dusty ground against her bare back, the fiery light of sun slowly disappearing into the dead pits of rock beyond him and her. And with the eyes of the devil watching. She could see him watching intently, quietly, and though she tried to say something to her lover, she found herself unable to make words as she groaned softly, half in ecstasy, half in pain.

This went on for years, until the point where both she and he were indifferent to each other's presence. She'd close her eyes to imagine she was elsewhere, so that she didn't have to see the devil watching her anymore nor have to face the reality that her relationship with Jin had been reduced to something entirely physical.

There was only one time that Julia didn't remember the devil waiting for her, and that was the night before Jin went away forever. And she spent that night, clinging to Jin after they had made love, in hopes that he'd change his mind about not returning home, and slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

The only thing that woke her was the sensation of her legs being lifted and straddled.

o.o.o.o.o

Jerome Wilson, age 32, unmarried, just a few months shy of his tenth anniversary at New Vision Medical and G-Tech, lived with a mutt named Rosencrantz.

The killing wound was breathtaking to look at, even after the orderly had been dead for two days. It was nearly perfect; the force that pushed the cart towards the man's throat had been enough to cause the edge of the cart to neatly slice through the flesh of the man's throat, nearly decapitating him.

Someone in forensics had stated that the velocity force that had pushed that cart had to been two tons over several hundred miles per hour, after calculating the short distance traveled. And the thing that only stopped it was the impact of the skull and a wall pushing back with the same force. A wonderful experiment in physics, the coroner added.

Heihachi began to wonder why any of these people were doing medical work. That man's life had become nothing more than a science experiment. The elderly man felt out of place there; younger folk had asked him to come in to view the body, and now there he was staring down at the head of a man that stared back up at him with wild, milky eyes and mouth gapping, as if he was still gasping for air.

Jerome Wilson, drove a green '92 Ford Taurus, his student loans were almost paid off, still kept a picture of his girlfriend from high school in his wallet.

Jerome Wilson, age 32, cause of death: suffocation due to the esophagus being completely severed by a blunt object used with tremendous force.

No one but Heihachi cared that Mr. Wilson's dog hadn't been fed in two days.

The carcass of a jack rabbit lay in the middle of the living room floor; her neck had been broken. She was bleeding from several wounds, her fur caked and matted with dark brown blood. Next to the body, a bloody stick had been placed carefully; from where the mess of innards and bodily fluids split out, it had obviously been played with, probably while the rabbit was still breathing.

Heihachi shivered a bit as he gently nudged the dead animal with his index and middle fingers.

The body was still warm.

He straightened up from where he had been hunched over, pulling the black fedora off of his head as he walked further into his home.

Silence.

He went up the stairs, taking off his blazer and draping it over his arm as he trotted upwards towards the open bedroom door upstairs, towards the quiet afternoon sunlight and sounds of the summer breeze blowing through the wind chimes outside.

His son's back was to him, and the little boy was hunched over playing with his toy soldiers. Little tin samurai his grandfather had gotten him on a business trip to Japan. The boy hummed to himself softly, the same song his mother always sang to him at night, the one thing she could still do for the children.

Heihachi hated that song. When his wife sang it, her soft, sweet voice was a whisper like as if would be last time she would ever sing. He often felt like it was; Chaolan never fell asleep listening to it, his tiny, chubby face often scrunched up to keep from wailing out at the obscenity. He should have been too young to understand, yet he did.

Kazuya, however, always fell asleep, a serene smile on his face.

The Mishima leaned in the doorway, his arms folded over his blazer and stomach as he watched his oldest son play for a few moments before entering the room without word and leaning over Kazuya.

The boy was barefoot, still dressed in his oversized bedclothes, and his collection of samurai and soldiers, one from each trip Heihachi's father took, lay askew on the floor before him as he played. His tiny, bloodstained hands carefully arranging the soldiers into lines for battle as he hummed until finally singing softly to himself as he lovingly placed a broken ronin in line next to a wooden Spanish soldier.

Heihachi spoke, "Kazuya?"

Kazuya stopped what he was doing and tilted his head up to look up at his father, his eyes blank. The little boy blinked once and then went back to what he was doing.

Heihachi repeated himself, "Kazuya."

"I'm playing."

"There's a rabbit downstairs. Did you leave it there?"

"No."

The older Mishima sat down on the floor next to his son, crossing his legs Indian-style, his blazer still folded against his stomach. He then asked as he cranked his head lower to look his son in the eye, "Kazuya, do you know how it got down there?"

"I didn't do it."

"Your brother didn't do it, your mother didn't do it, and I'm pretty certain the nanny didn't do it."

Kazuya let out a small, frustrated huff yet kept his head down and repeated sternly, "I _didn't_ do it."

"Then who did?"

"_He_ did it," the little boy replied in a matter-of-fact tone, carefully laying down a Chinese foot soldier in line. He then looked up at his father again; Heihachi's face melted into confusion as he stared back at Kazuya, whose face was solemn.

"And who is he?" the older man asked softly.

Kazuya pointed in front of him, "_Him._"

Where Kazuya pointed was the space in front of him beyond the line of broken toy soldiers; there was no one there, except for a few more figures lain askew on the floor and the open window. The silence that followed was unnerving, the deceivingly peaceful sunlight that filled the room and fell on the little boy's face. The boy's attention went back to his playing, and he said nothing else. Heihachi rose silently, keeping his gaze on his son. He then turned to leave, only stopping once at the door to glace over his shoulder.

Kazuya started humming to himself again.

He threw away his soiled gardening gloves, stuffing them into the same trash bag that he had dropped the dead animal and the bloodied stick into. All of it went into the incinerator behind the dojo, and when Heihachi returned, he went straight up to Kazuya's bedroom, scooping up the little boy in his arms.

Surprisingly, Kazuya didn't protest as his father carried him out of the room, and he was carried into the bathroom. Gently, Heihachi set his son down on the floor, and he placed the lid down to the toilet and sat down on it to turn and draw water into the bathtub.

The fizzing of the steaming water echoed, filling Heihachi's ears with a grating pain as he listened. For a moment, he kept his attention on the water that slowly filled the tub, not sure exactly why he was doing what he was. But then, he closed his eyes then bowed his head solemnly as he let out a heavy sign before shifting in his seat some to face Kazuya.

Hastily, he pulled off his son's flannel top.

"Kazuya," he said as he continued to strip the little boy naked, "We're not going to tell anyone about rabbit. Ever."

Kazuya peered up at his father, "Not even Mama?"

"Not even Mama." With that, he lifted his son up carefully over the edge of the tub and placed him into the warm water. And for a moment, they sat staring at each other, until Kazuya turned away and shrugged, splashing water a bit.

Heihachi quickly rolled up his sleeves. He then reached over the boy to grab a bar of soap, dipped it into the water, and began scrubbing the boy down hastily.

". . .Dad?. . ."

It was dead silent then, and from the openings of the parking garage, snow fell; thick, sticky clumps that fluttered and reflected the rosy street lights from outside. And even then, Heihachi held his breath though no one was around. Kazuya lain sprawled before him, his head resting in his father's lap, the corner of his mouth twitching as his life drained out him painfully. The blood stain on the collar of his white oxford shirt grew larger until finally creeping out into his shirt and tie, yet Heihachi waited. Finally, the sounds of footsteps echoing through the garage broke the quiet.

He then said to his son, "I know it wasn't you. It was him." Kazuya managed a slight nod before taking one last shallow breath then he was still. His glazed over eyes stared up at the older man. "He did all of this." Heihachi gazed back down at the lifeless eyes, "I took care of him, and now you can rest."

"Dad?" He looked up at Lee. There was a strange clairvoyance in the young man's face; there had always been clouded thoughts that had been hung over Lee that only grew worse as he got older until finally he had sealed himself off entirely from both his brother and his father. However, it was moments like this that the silver-haired man managed to sober up and take in what was happening. He took it without saying a word, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a flask of whiskey inside of his jacket.

Lee kneeled down next to his father, taking care not to wrinkle the black business suit and trenchcoat he was clad in, his hands still covered by black leather gloves.

He reeked of gun powder.

"He looks so peaceful..." the younger man commented, reaching inside of his coat to produce a pack of cigs and his silver zippo. He then lit up; the metallic sounds of his lighter echoed weakly through the emptiness. "We can't leave him here, though. If anyone--" He took a long drag of his cigarette then pulled it from his lips, "--_Anyone_ sees this, this is all a jury needs to put you away for the rest of your life."

Heihachi was silent, and his face darkened into thought.

Lee continued, "I know what you're thinking..." He then gazed down at his brother; somberly, he raised a hand to the dead man's face and gently closed shut Kazuya's eyelids. "No one would even think to blame me. But you. Everyone will want to blame you."

"You're just upset about that Williams girl--"

"--You're damned right I am." Lee looked back up at his father, "You saw what Kaz did to her. She might as well be dead." He took another drag then looked away towards the huge openings in the concrete walls; the snow was starting to pick up, and the wind howled. Flashes of golden light floated by as trucks started clearing the streets that night; though still neither sirens nor flashes of red and blue.

The younger man sighed heavily, "There's this detective. He has it out for Kaz for some reason. I've talked to him a few times when he was investing the company for the feds." His gaze stayed on the thick flakes falling outside, "I think he'd buy us the time we need to get rid of the evidence."

The older Mishima's frown deepened, and he remained silent.

Lee turned back to look at his father and nodded sympathetically once before standing up, "Dad, I love Kaz more than anything else in the world, but as much I love him..." Again, he carefully dusted off the knees to his trousers and straightened his tie and coat before once more reaching into the coat, this time producing a cellphone.

Kazuya Mishima, age 27, unmarried, just a few weeks shy of his twenty-eighth birthday, lived with some woman whose name no one could remember.


	25. Author's Note

Author's Note to Readers

No, this isn't a new chapter. But I promise, there will be one soon.

Though it doesn't feel like it, I've been working on this project for over two years now, not counting the work I put into Canto and the related shorts I've published here and in other places. I've been happy with the little feedback I've gotten; most of the readers I have are people that have been kind enough to review on every chapter that they've read and have been following this story from the start. And I just wanted to express the huge amount of graditude that I have for the people that have put up with my sleep-deprived typos and the slow pace. Since I don't put notes on every chapter, I don't really have a way to say that every little review, even the short blasts, have been meaningful. So, much thanks to all of you, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy the story I'm telling. It really means a great deal to know that a few people are reading.

Aside from that, I don't know how the general Tekken fans are responding to the story. It's somewhat of a mixed blessing. On one hand, it gives me the freedom to continue writing the story the way I want with no interference from fanon. But on the other hand, it's almost a slap in the face to see another Tekken fic with similar length but with a very tried and true formula with tens times the amount of reviews. Again, I have no way of know who's reading, or even if it's being read outside of the people responding. This isn't a complaint at all; mostly, it was an observation I made tonight when I was making my regular browse through this section. I know I couldn't possibly be the only author on the site that's noticed the odd trend, and I just wanted to say something to the readers:

You really owe it to yourselves to read through some of the other Tekken fiction on this site. There's no commitment needed as far as reviewing, but there is a lot of wonderful and creative fiction on this site that doesn't center around the same few characters as the literally hundreds of Tekken fic hosted here. As of late, I've been delighted at the amount of new fics popping up featuring rarely written about characters and creative takes on the story canon. Unfortunately, many of these fics aren't recieving the feedback and recognition they deserve simply because they're not about the three fan favorites: Jin, Hwoarang, and Xiaoyu. Though it might be hard to make yourselves excited about other characters, sometimes the best thing is to go ahead and read something that's different. Of course, there's always the chance that it won't be to your taste, or worse yet, you'll completely hate it. But not reading at all is even worse than hating something. These writers put just as much effort, sometimes more, into their work as any of the more conventional Tekken authors on the site.

With that said, I want to say thank you again to anyone that reads this story. I know that I didn't put a pairing label in the summary nor that I didn't mention all the characters involved. I know I didn't spell out every detail, and I know I never change the summary when I add a new chapter. I know that my prose can be a little hard to follow and that my interest in character development slows the action down immensely. So, I thank you all for having the bravery and patience to venture into something presented differently from most of the fiction in this section. It really gives me faith in my fandom to know that authors like me do have a very small place on this site to be welcomed at.

lilykane, December 2004


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